Nothing Happens In the Middle of Nowhere
by Dead Tea
Summary: Aster knows all about boring Burgess, with it's one main street, tiny stores, and the frozen lake that hasn't thawed in 80 years. He's lived here for two long, dull years. Only now the days are growing dark, the lake is melting, and this Jack kid has turned up out of the blue to drive him insane. (North's nephew? Yeah, right.) -Modern AU; Human Bunny; character death
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_March, 1933_

The winter had lingered far longer than it should have. The snow was too thick on the ground where grass should have been poking through. The children were too thin, their cheeks too hollow. They were fortunate to have had a good harvest before the first storm rolled in; they might not have survived. Little Pippa almost hadn't.

It had been unbearably cold when they woke this morning, like every morning before. It simply hadn't occurred to her, when she agreed to send the children off to the lake, that anything could happen. After all, they were out there just a few days before, and any day they could manage since the water froze over.

Ann Overland was kneading the bread that go with their supper (or be their supper, if her husband returned from his hunt empty-handed). With no work to be found, he had taken to the woods, more and more often, even in the dreadful cold. Sometimes, he got lucky and they had something warm to eat. Most times, they scraped together what they could.

She tried not to think about it, or about how small tonight's loaf had to be, and how little flour they had left in the pantry, when something heavy thudded against the roof. She jumped, paused, and pressed a flour-coated hand to her chest. In the stillness that followed, she laughed at herself, and bent back to her work. Until it happened again. Only this time it was a SWOOP-THUD. And then the snow gathered on her roof became too heavy, crumbled, and tumbled down past the kitchen window.

Dusting her hands on her apron, Ann left her chore and stepped outside. The sun was high, and the sky was clear. The snow was almost too bright to look at, glistening and sparkling where it wasn't turned to muddy brown mush along little road that cut through the town. Every so often, the branches of a tree trembled, and snow came tumbling down.

Mr. Berk, who lived across the street and ran the pharmacy, shouted across to her, "It's melting off!" He pointed excitedly to the trees with one hand, the other holding his fish-eyed spectacles one his face. "Spring is coming at last!"

She tried to smile for him, but dread clawed at her gut. Her eyes strayed to the well-worn path that her children had taken that morning, not a stone's throw from her doorstep. It wound through the woods. Not far, but far enough that the small lake could not be seen from here.

She tried to convince herself she was being overprotective, silly. Jack was a clever boy. For all his playing around and slipping out of trouble with too-wide grins, he was responsible, and very protective of his little sister. If there was a danger, he would do the right thing. She had no need to worry.

And just as she began to believe it, a broken scream rent the air. Her heart broke, because she knew Pippa's voice, and she knew, before she even saw her daughter tear out of the woods, that her world was ending.

She tripped down the steps of her home, just as her daughter – her little, frail, too-thin girl – broke free of the tree line and stumbled and fell in the snow. Ann collapsed before her and pulled her up. Pippa was sobbing, her face bright red, streaked with tears, nose running. Mr. Berk was a blur in the corner of Ann's eye. She could sense others coming out of their homes, abandoning chores, but her eyes, her hands, her heart, were on Pippa.

"Mama!" Pippa was screaming, still screaming, as if everyone were still miles away. She struggled, and pointed back down the trail. "Jack!" Ann felt her blood run cold. Pippa screamed louder, "Jack! He's in the lake!"

Mr. Berk took off running down the trail, toward the lake. More men followed. Four, maybe five. Ann wasn't paying attention. She was numb. Pippa was still screaming, crying, clinging to her. Someone – someone's wife – gently took her by the shoulders and eased her onto her feet. Pippa was pried away from her arms and they were both led home.

Hours passed. Pippa exhausted herself and Mrs. Story from next door put her bed. Ann sat at the table with a cup of tea that had gone cold long ago, waiting. The men, one by one, returned to town, burdened with regret. Mr. Berk came last, and was let into the house by Mrs. Story.

"Mr. Overland came upon us," he said. "He's been informed. He's still down there." His voice was strained, and shook. Ann couldn't bear to look at him, at anyone. She nodded her head, tight-lipped, lest she fall apart. "I cannot express how deeply sorry I am…" He hesitated, but couldn't find any more words for her. Mrs. Story patted his arm sympathetically and led him to the door.

"You can both go," Ann said suddenly. "I can wait for my husband on my own."

Mrs. Story looked uncertain, and bit her lip. "Are you certain, Ann?"

"I'll be fine." Her voice was dead, tired. "I thank you for your help. But I wish to be alone now."

"Of course." Mrs. Story offered up a weak smile, and Mr. Berk held open the door for her. "I'll come check up on you in the morning. I'll bring rolls for Pippa for breakfast."

Ann nodded, and listened to the door shut, and to two pairs of footsteps cross her porch and crunch across the snow, away from the house.

The figure on the bed shifted, and Pippa's small voice asked, full of hope, "Will Papa bring Jack home?"

Ann closed her eyes, felt the tears run hot down her face. She didn't have the strength to answer.

* * *

**Author's Note**:

I'm going to try and keep AN's to a minimum. If you didn't catch it in the summary, this is an AU. 1933 is deliberate. I will try to keep everyone IC, but if you see anything glaring and awful, please let me know. I haven't written in a long, long time (not publically or outside of an RP, anyway). My fingers are rusty, my brain is dusty.

I waffled on using Pippa as a name for Jack's sister. I had to name her something, and it seems the most common go-to name for her. I've taken liberties in other places. Bear with me. :)

And thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 1: Welcome to Burgess

**Chapter One**

_Eighty Years Later (give or take)_

Aster ignored the peals of laughter that trailed after him as he slammed out of the high school. So his last name was Bunnymund, and his mother deliberately named him Emmit Aster. E Aster. Easter Bunnymund. His name was a joke that never got old.

It wasn't that Aster couldn't stand up for himself. He was as tall as, if not taller, than most of the boys in the school – approaching six feet, and all of it lean muscle. He might not win rumble against anyone on the football team, but it would be a good, hard fight. But after two years, he was sick of this fight in particular. And he had more important things to deal with than defend his name.

It was those more important things that drove him into self-imposed isolation. He had no friends. He used to. When he first moved to this god-forsaken town he had been quite popular. The exotic Australian with the cool accent. It didn't hurt that he had his father's charm and his mother's good looks, and her green, green eyes. His hair was a dirty brown, and he hardly bothered with it anymore. It needed to be cut months ago. He could almost tie it back now.

He dug his keys out of his pocket as he stormed away from the building, cutting through yard to his pickup – a white Toyota twice as old, and just as worn down. His bag was flung carelessly in the back, and he climbed in the cab with a huff. The engine revved, and he reached over to crank the radio. It didn't matter what was playing, as long as it was loud enough to drive away the laughter, the jeers, and every evil thought in his head.

Once he felt his nerves were settled, he pulled away from the school.

Burgess was a small town, one of those way out in the middle of nowhere places with a deep history. Most families here had roots that ran back several generations. Everyone knew everyone, to an unsettling degree. The Bunnymunds were one of the few exceptions. They had moved into the area only two years prior. In Aster's not so humble opinion, they should have stayed in Australia.

It only took five minutes to get from the school to Burgess Main Street Plaza – the town's only source of commerce. The town's only grocery store – called the Burgess Grocery – was right across the street. The plaza itself was two stories, with a clothing store, an optometrist, and a card shop on the top floor. The bottom level had a novelty store, a dentist, and a toy store. He pulled around to the back, where there was a little space left for parking between the garbage bins and the employee doors.

He parked behind the toy store. North's World of Wonders. The truck died with a rattle. Aster patted the steering wheel, silently begging her to keep going, and hopped out. He snagged his bag out of the bed and entered through the employee door – which was always unlocked (he warned North that it was a bad idea, but the old man wouldn't listen).

The back area of the store was storage for all of North's wood, tools, and unfinished projects. A workbench was stuffed up against one wall, and woodchips littered the floor. It always smelled of sawdust, oil, and varnish. Aster was careful not to touch anything as he navigated around the various bits and pieces of some half-complete masterpiece to the store proper.

North's World of Wonders was nothing short of miraculous. Every toy on the shelf was lovingly hand crafted by the woodcarver himself. North, large and joyful, with kind eyes and a full head of white hair and a beard to match, never seemed to tire of creating his toys, day in and day out. He was a regular Santa Claus.

At the back of the store there was one table, and a shelf crowded with paint cans. This was where Aster dropped his bag. This was where he belonged.

"North," he called. "I'm here."

He scanned the store for his employer. It didn't take long. The store was small, and North was large. The old man was nowhere to be seen. With a shrug, he moved to settle in behind the table.

Then he heard it.

"It's one candy! What is the harm?" The door opened with a jingle, as it brushed against the bell hanging overhead, and North stepped in, walking backward. He bore a thick Russian accent.

"I just cleaned his teeth!" An indignant female voice. That would be the dentist next door. She ran a small practice. Very small. She and her receptionist/assistant were the only ones who worked there. Everyone called her Miss Tooth. Aster wasn't sure what her real name was.

She was a small, curvy woman who never stopped moving. She had short feathery hair, and large, bright eyes. They were a strange color, some shade of purplish blue. He was pretty sure they were contacts.

"But he has no cavities. That is good! He deserves a reward!" North was already behind his register, pulling out the dreaded "Sugar Bowl". Miss Tooth hated the Sugar Bowl. It was filled with all sorts of hard and soft, sticky, gooey candies. North kept it well stocked for good children who came through his store.

The "he" is question was a small ten year old boy, with shining brown eyes and hair to match, who darted around Miss Tooth as soon as the Sugar Bowl was plunked down on the counter. "Just one, Miss Tooth! Pleeease!" He clapped his hands together. "I'll put it in my pocket and save it for after dinner."

Miss Tooth narrowed her eyes, not quite believing it, but sighed. "Go ahead. I know North is just going to sneak one to you when I turn my back anyway."

North snorted. "Of course not!" He not-so-discreetly shook the candies in his sleeve back into the bowl and handed one to the boy.

The boy grinned, and stuffed the candy in his pocket. He whirled around, and darted to the back, where Aster watched all of this while pulling paint cans from the shelf and preparing his work station. He had a toy soldier in front of him now, and a brush in hand, but thankfully had an eye on the kid, who didn't stop running until he'd hit the table, knocking it back a bit. Nothing spilt, and no harm was done, but Aster frowned across the table.

"Easy, Jamie. What have I told you about being careful in here?"

The boy looked apologetic. "Sorry." He dug into his pocket, glanced back to see if Miss Tooth was watching, and retrieve his candy. "Did I mess you up?"

Aster shook his head. "Nah. Haven't even started yet." He tilted his head to the storefront, where Miss Tooth and North were still bickering. "So, you get out of school early for that?"

"Yeah. Had to get my teeth cleaned." Jamie popped the candy – a caramel – in his mouth. So much for those bright, shiny teeth. "Sophie was getting fussy, so Mom ran across the street for some groceries instead of waiting."

Jamie had moved away from the table to look at rocking horses and nutcrackers, so Aster dipped his brush in blue paint applied it to the soldier's coat with careful strokes. He was nearly done when he became aware of a light breath over his shoulder. He started and looked to the side to see Jamie standing behind him.

"You're really good at that," the boy said.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Hey, do you th…" The boy was cut off by the jingling of the door's bell. "Aw, man. My mom's here."

Aster smirked at the disappointment on Jamie's face, and smiled more fully as his name – well, sort of - was hollered full volume from a little tyke with a mop of blonde tangles trying to squirm out her mother's arms. Said mother – medium build, with the same brown hair and eyes as Jamie – bent to release the girl with a tired wave to the teen.

"Bunny! Bunny!"

Sophie was the only one allowed to call him Bunny and not get a fist in the face.

Not that he would sock a toddler.

He set the wooden soldier down and scooped Sophie up as soon as she was near. "Hey, kiddo. How ya doing?" He tried not to cringe as she planted a very slobbery kiss on his cheek. He adjusted his hold on her as he stood up and made his way to the front, Jamie in tow.

"Mrs. Bennett," he greeted, handing a protesting Sophie back. He had to pry little fingers off his neck.

"Aster. How are you?" She smiled, though it looked strained. Maybe she was just tired.

He rubbed the back of his neck, where his hair was getting long. "Good. 'M good."

She nodded. "Good." There was a pause, too long to be comfortable. "Well. Tell your mother I said hi." She looked outside, away from him. "It's getting dark. We should head home. Jamie? Come on."

Aster frowned, and followed the Bennetts out of the store. Was it so late already? He checked his watch, but it wasn't even 4:30. The sun was still well above the horizon. And yet, it appeared as though a shroud had been dropped over the town. Light was dimmed, shadows were deeper.

He watched the Bennetts get in their car and drive away. Miss Tooth hovered a moment, and then flitted off into her office. North stood beside him a moment, his head tilted to the sky. Aster looked up at him, and for a moment – just a moment – he thought he saw worry on the old man's face.

And then it was gone. North slapped Aster on the shoulder with a grin. "Must be a storm moving in. Not to worry! Come, we have work to do."

"…Right." Aster moved to follow, unconvinced. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.


	3. Chapter 2: The Lake of Burgess

**Chapter Two**

Aster's alarm went off three times before he rolled out of bed with a groan. It felt too early, even though his clock read 8:18. His curtains were wide open, but his room was dark. This time of year, the sun should have been pouring in. He scrubbed his face and peered outside. No clouds.

But it was cold. The chill bit into his bare feet as soon as he stepped onto the cracked linoleum in the bathroom. He threw a towel down as a buffer and reached over the toilet to turn on the shower. Only nothing happened. Just a bit of groaning from the pipes, and a squeak from the knob.

"Oh, you're kidding me." He gave the knob another twist, with no result. He tried the sink next. "…the hell?" He pounded on the sink in frustration. If he didn't know better, he'd say the pipes were frozen.

Or the water had been shut off.

It was mid-March, and the last time it was cold enough for the pipes to freeze was the beginning of January. It had been getting warmer.

He shivered suddenly as he marched down the hall. It _had_ been getting warmer.

His mother's room was next to his, the master suite at the end of the trailer. It wasn't much, just barely enough room for a queen sized bed and a dresser. And the entirety of Susan Bunnymund's wardrobe, scattered carelessly over the floor. Aster could barely get the door open for the piles of clothes blocking it.

"Mom," he called. "Mom!" He poked his head through and squinted into the room. Unlike him, Susan kept her curtains drawn tight, blocking out any and all light. But he could make out the shape of her body sprawled on the bed. "Mom, the water's off!"

She made a sound and shifted, but didn't wake.

"Mother!" he shouted. But she still didn't react. She hadn't been up when he had come home the night before, and he bet now that she'd been drinking. He jerked her door shut and stomped back to the bathroom to get ready for school. As ready as he could with no water.

There was a stack of unpaid bills on the table. He ignored them, as he was sure his mother ignored them, and choked down a stale piece of bread as he tugged on his jacket and hefted his backpack over his shoulder.

It was even colder outside. He paused on the porch and couldn't help but think how … dim the world looked. His home was a small trailer, set on five acres, but surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. Fields of dry, yellow grass spread out in all directions, crossed every so often by a dirt road. Hills curved up in the distance, and to the north, toward the town, was the wooded area that hid the lake. Farther back were the mountains. The sky was clear, but sickly. A kind of green color, rather than blue.

His truck choked to life, and he let her warm up for a few minutes before heading in to school.

He should have called in sick. (His impression of his mother was, well, _impressive_.) His eyes strayed to windows in every class. His concentration was shot. More than once, he was snapped at to pay attention or reprimanded for ignoring the teacher when called on. Others noticed the change in the weather, but no one seemed concerned. It bothered him.

Something was wrong. He _felt_ it. But he couldn't explain it.

By the time lunch rolled around, he gave up. He couldn't focus, and wading through his classes for another three hours just wasn't going to work. High school students were allowed to leave campus for lunch, so when he hopped in his truck and took off, no one blinked.

He started to head home, but realized halfway that his mother would still be there. She worked evening shifts, if she went in at all, and he didn't want to deal with her right now. As he was passing the edge of the woods, he spotted the old road that wound down to the lake and slowed to take it.

The old side road wasn't as well kept as the county roads, with deep grooves and pits and overgrowth that bounced the truck this way and that. It wound through the woods, and around a small hill, and came to rest on the bank of the small lake.

A very _special_ lake. The eternally frozen Lake of Burgess shone like mirror, a plate of glass, perfect and still, no matter the season.

Aster killed the engine, and listen to it rattle away. The silence left behind was deafening. There was no place in Burgess – or anywhere he had ever been – that was so still. Nothing moved here. If one stood perfectly still, there was no sound. Not even birds, nor insects.

The sound of his door opening and slamming shut was blasphemy, cutting into the quiet like a gunshot. He stepped slowly, carefully, trying to make as little sound as possible. He came here sometimes, to think, to wonder. It was a good place to do both.

And maybe it was just the light of the noonday sun reflecting off the ice, but it seemed brighter here. Even the sky was more blue directly above. There wasn't even a breeze here, just the chill air. Aster breathed it in, and looked out across the glassy surface of the lake, listening to nothing.

"Do you know the story?"

The voice was brittle and dry, a twig snapping in the icy air. Aster clutched his chest and spun around with a shout. "Holy shit!" His other hand was raised and ready to punch something.

He hadn't heard anyone approaching, but there stood behind him an old woman. An ancient woman. She was the oldest woman in Burgess, and of course he knew her. Everyone did. The Widow. Or the Witch. He'd heard her called both. She was thin, frail, bent over and withered. Her hair was twisted and grey and hung in long tendrils down her back. She clutched a walking stick in one hand, and a heavy jacket with the other.

"Lady!" He lowered his fist, but his heart was still hammering a mile a minute. "What are you…? _How_ did you…? Why are you out here?"

The Widow cackled. She actually _cackled_. "I was taking a walk."

"Out here? Alone?" Concern warred with suspicion.

"Why not? I don't have many years left. I should get to spend them however I want." She grinned then, huge and crooked. It took at least a decade off her face, and he couldn't help but smile back at her.

"Sure," he conceded. "Why not." He didn't believe any of the stories the other kids told about her. Most of them involved frogs and broomsticks.

She moved by him, her feet slow and oh, so silent, to the edge of the lake where ice stretched up to meet sand. "So, do you?"

"Do I?" He followed after her, wincing at how loud his own feet crunched in the gravel in her wake.

"Know the story. Do you know why the lake is frozen?" She watched him over her shoulder, until he was standing next to her.

"Ah. Um, no. I heard it was really a glacier or something?" Kids from the university upstate and geologists came through every so often to poke at it. He'd heard the glacier theory a few times.

The Window scoffed. "_Glacier_. Where did that even come from? It is clearly a lake. We have plenty of maps and documentation that will prove it is a _lake_. We swam in it. We fished in it. We drank from it."

"Wait. _You _swam and fished and … and…" He waved a hand out at the unmoving lake. "I thought this thing has been frozen for thousands of years."

The Widow snorted. "I'm not _that_ old." When she turned away from him to look at the still ice, her smile slipped away. "No. It happened eighty years ago." She looked at Aster suddenly. "Do you believe in ghosts? Spirits?"

Aster shook his head. "No. Not really."

She shrugged and looked away again. "Well, humor this old woman anyway." She closed her eyes, and he stared out over the lake, listening. "A boy took his sister out skating on this lake. It had been a long, hard winter, and they thought it would be safe. But then the ice broke up under them. The boy managed to throw his sister to safety, but he could not save himself. He fell through the ice and drown."

"Did you know him?" Aster asked, trying to be gentle, but he immediately felt he was interrupting.

The Widow opened her eyes, but didn't look at him. "The town was much smaller then, than it is now." She added, gently chastising, "I am not done."

"Right. Sorry."

"Spring came soon after. But the lake remained frozen. More than that, it froze over more solid than before, as solid as it had been in the dead of winter. We waited, and waited for it to thaw. Summer came, and still it was frozen. We tried to chip away at it, but by then the ice was so thick we could not dig far enough to reach water." She broke into a sudden grin. "You should have seen the fish! Fish-sicles!"

Aster smiled with her, but he didn't understand what a drowned kid had to do with a frozen lake. "But what caused it? Why did the lake freeze over?"

"The boy. He's sleeps in the lake. He keeps the waters still so no one shares his fate."

"That's … creepy."

And Aster didn't believe a word of it. The Widow could see it. She sighed softly. "There will be a full moon tonight."

"Oh. Yeah?" He didn't know why that mattered.

She turned away from him, away from the lake. "Keep an eye on it. It might bring you something special." On her silent feet, she started away.

Aster frowned, and cast a final look at the lake. A chill rode down his spine. "Hey, do you want a ride…" he turned, and the woman was gone. "…home… Never mind?"


	4. Chapter 3: Quake

**Chapter Three**

North and Miss Tooth were at it again when Aster dragged himself into work that afternoon. As the teen set up his work station and went in search of a screwdriver to pry open a can of paint, he could hear North's boisterous laughter and Miss Tooth's fretting outside the front door. Probably another argument over candy, or all the noise North's power tools and hammering made. Or how Miss Tooth's drills give North the willies.

Aster poked his head out the door. "North. I'm here."

North stopped mid-chuckle to look back. "Oh, Aster! Hello. You are early? Did school let you out? Or is my watch broken again?" He tapped the timepiece on his wrist and held it up to his ear.

Aster shrugged. "A little early, yeah. No big deal. Hey, Miss Tooth." He ducked back into the store before any more questions could be asked. He could see a few forming on Miss Tooth's lips – she was just the type to worry and invade with too many questions. He didn't need them coming down on him for skipping half a day at school.

He retreated to his table, where he could lose himself in painting North's creations.

He had just barely begun when North entered the store, calling out farewell to Miss Tooth. But he wasn't alone. A much smaller man was trailing behind him. He was dressed in a tan business suit, and his pale hair was sticking up in all directions. Aster had never seen him around town before.

"This is my friend, Sandy," North said, as they drew near. The small man simply nodded, so Aster nodded back. "We have a lot to discuss, so we will be in the back. You keep an eye on the store."

"Sure." Aster watched the toymaker and his friend disappear into the backroom. He buried his curiosity with work.

An hour came and went, and North and his friend remained hidden. The door jingled, pulling Aster away from his paints. He looked up from a doll's smiling lips and found Jamie grinning in the doorway.

"What are you doing here, kiddo?"

Jamie wandered into the store, eyes traveling over the handcrafted toys. "Mom's working a double shift, so I thought I'd come say hi."

"Ah. Even though you're supposed to go straight home after school." Aster shook his head, trying to look stern (though it was probably exactly the kind of thing he would have done when he was Jamie's age, if he could have gotten away with it).

"C'mon! My school is like, a block from here."

"Not really. No, it isn't."

"Whatever."

"Whatever," Aster mimicked. "It's not me that's going to get in trouble." He stood up from the table and stretched his arms up over his head. "Grab something from the Sugar Bowl. I know that's why you come here."

Jamie whooped and bounced around the counter to where North's big bowl of candies was tucked away. Aster made his way up to the front to make sure the kid didn't take more than one or two of the treats. "I'd bring you home, but North is entertaining someone in the back. He's got me minding the store."

Jamie stuck a chewy something in his mouth and said, "Nah, it's alright. I can get home on my own."

"Can you give me a ring when you get there?"

Jamie rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Yeah, fine. You're as bad as Mom sometimes."

Aster was about to reply, with his hand halfway to messing up the hair on top of Jamie's head, when everything went dark. Jamie blinked owlishly, and looked up at the ceiling lights first. But in the middle of the day, North didn't even use the electricity. (He said it took away from the rustic charm of his shop.)

"What happened?" the boy asked.

Aster felt as though a weight were pressing on his chest. It wasn't the power. It was outside. It was as if the sun just went out. No… There was still some light. It was just muted, faded. Through the window, the street outside had a greenish tint, with thick, black shadows spilling out from the corners.

From behind him, there came a rattling. His brows knitted together and he turned to see the toys lining the shelves vibrating, then shaking.

Jamie's hand was suddenly in his, the small boy pressed tight against him. "Aster…"

There was a boom, under them, over them, everywhere around them. The whole store leapt around them, and everything flew. The floor shifted and rocked under their feet. Aster grabbed Jamie by the shoulders and dove under the work table, and folded himself over the smaller body. All around them, wooden masterpieces splintered and cracked against the floor. The glass windows in front of the store shattered and the bell jingled furiously.

Gradually, the shaking died away. Car alarms were blaring outside, and Aster could hear people shouting now. Jamie was trembling in his arms. He gave a boy a squeeze and rubbed his back. "It's okay. We're okay."

"What was that?" Jamie's voice shook as badly as the rest of him. "An earthquake?"

"Yeah. I think so." Aster loosened his grip. "Come on. I think it's safe now."

He crawled out from under the table first, checking to make sure it was safe, before pulling Jamie out after him. There was a commotion from the back, and North burst into the room, zeroing in on them, leaping over broken horses and rocking chairs to grab them by the shoulders. Sandy picked his way toward them more carefully.

"Are you alright?" North asked.

Jamie was clutching Aster's arm, still trembling. He nodded, though it was obvious he was scared.

Aster passed a hand over the boy's head and pulled him close. "I want to bring him home."

North released the boys and clapped Aster on the shoulder. "Good idea. I will call Jamie's mother to let her know he is safe."

Aster steered Jamie through the debris to the back of the store, careful of the saws and other tools that had fallen from the tables and wall. He helped the boy into his truck and pulled out of the alley and around to the street.

Miss Tooth was outside, picking the two pieces of her tooth-shaped welcome sign up from the ground. Her windows, like the toy store, had blown out all over the sidewalk. He slowly came to a stop beside her, rolling down his window, and she turned to smile sadly at him.

"Thank goodness it's Friday," she said. "I didn't have any patients after three."

"You're okay?" Aster asked.

"Yeah. Just a little shaken." She put a hand to her face, and he could see a tremor in her hands. "You? Everyone else?"

"Yeah," he said. "We're okay."

She waved him off, and he pulled away. The drive to Jamie's house was a short one, but quiet. The town was in a state of turmoil. People gathered on the street, confused, frightened. There was damage all around, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. Earthquakes simply didn't happen here. The sun didn't suddenly go dark either. Though that had passed. The light was still muted, dull, but it wasn't as dark as it had been before.

Mrs. Bennett was pacing the sidewalk when Aster pulled up to her house. She looked like hell in a pink waitress uniform, the apron strings half undone and dragging behind her. Her hair was standing on end, as if she'd been running her hands through it, or pulling at it, but the pins she used to keep it back got in the way.

Jamie was out of the truck as soon as Aster had it parked, and flying into his mother's arms. He didn't care one bit that she was scolding him.

"You were supposed be at _home_, Jamie! What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Jamie buried his face in her stomach. "I know. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

Aster hung back as she sighed and pet her son's hair. He tapped his foot on the ground, and thought maybe he should just go, but she looked up, and said, "Thank you for bringing him home."

"Oh, yeah. No problem." He scratched a hand through his too-long brown hair. He hovered a bit in the awkward silence, then hesitantly asked, "Hey, um, did you see if my mom made it in?"

Mrs. Bennett sighed. "Aster," and she took up the same scolding tone she had used on Jamie earlier. "I haven't seen your mother all week. I've taken up five of her missed shifts." She snapped, "And I'm getting tired of it."

Aster choked on the news, and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I'm sorry," he managed. "I… I'll talk to her…"

"If it makes you feel better." Her tone was dismissive, and he accepted it was a curt nod. She untangled Jamie from around her waist and pushed him toward the house. Two steps were taken before a look of horror and guilt over came her and she cursed and turned back. "No. Don't. Aster, _she _is supposed to take care of _you._"

Aster hovered a moment, then took halting steps around the front of his truck. He stopped and hit the hood, lightly, but Jamie and Mrs. Bennett both jumped. "Things are just … It's hard right now. That's all." His voice was rough, and he hated it. He ground his teeth together, and didn't dare look at them as he made to move again. But there was a hand on his arm, and Mrs. Bennett was right there.

"It's been hard for all of us. I understand. If you need anything, my door is open." Her hand squeezed gently before letting go.

He nodded, no longer trusting his voice.

* * *

Despite what Mrs. Bennett said, Aster knew he was going to have to talk to his mother about her job. They were too far behind on bills, and he didn't make enough working part time for North to cover even half of what they owed. What bothered him most, though, was that he hadn't even noticed. Where had she been those evenings when he believed she was at work?

He cranked up the radio to drown out his thoughts as he turned onto the county road leading out of town. Pavement gave way to dirt, and dust billowed up behind him. He didn't even slow down. The woods loomed up dark and silent to his right. The sun was sinking fast, leaving behind the Widow's promised full moon. He thought about taking that lake road again, thought about parking beside the still and quiet bed of ice for a while, and forgetting everything, just for an hour or two.

He wasn't even aware of the truck slowing, or that his eyes were fixing more and more on the woods than the road. Not until the road curved. A second too late, and he would have been nose-deep in a ditch. He was fortunate this time, looking back at the road just in time to spit out a curse and crank the wheel, kicking up dirt and rocks as the truck slid around the bend and came to a rest.

He let the truck idle there for a moment while he caught his breath.

He could see the woods better from here, and the moon looming overhead, bright and white, pure. Whatever darkness that was creeping over everything else, the moon seemed untouched. He wondered why that was. The moon's light was just reflected sunlight, so shouldn't it also be affected? (Though, maybe it was too much to think the sun itself was being blotted out. Maybe it was something much closer to home.)

"Ugh." Aster groaned and shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about it. He had enough problems. He didn't need the world ending on top of it. (Please, don't let this be the end of the world.)

A brightness bled through his eyelids, tinging the black a pinkish-red, and he frowned, and cracked his eyes open, expecting to see an oncoming vehicle. There was none.

It was the moon.

It wasn't just bright and full, it was shining, shimmering, illuminating the treetops with a silvery light. And the woods were answering. No, not the woods. Something deep within the woods. There was light reaching up as well.

Aster opened his door and stood up on his seat, peering up over the roof. His brain told him that someone was down in the woods, down by the lake, flashing some flood light around, but he knew – he _knew_ – it wasn't true. Because suddenly – so suddenly he nearly toppled off his truck in surprise – that light gathering in the woods shot straight up. It was blinding and white and beautiful.

And gone almost immediately.

Aster jumped back into his seat and slammed his door shut, ready to race down to the lake and find out just what the hell that was.

His phone rang. He gasped, startled, suddenly grounded. He lifted his hip and dug the cell out of his back pocket and saw his mother's name staring back at him. He hesitated, glanced back at the woods, and pressed answer.

"Mom." A sigh, his hand in his hair, and a regretful look at the moon, and the phantom line of where the beam of light had been. "Mom, I need you home. We need to talk." Angry, more firm, "No. I'm on my way, right now. Just … stay there. Please."

He shifted into gear and tore off down the road. The end of the world would have to wait.

* * *

**AN: **Jack is coming, _I promise. _Next chapter.

Probably.


	5. Chapter 4: My nephew, Jack

**Chapter Four**

The alarm went off three times before Aster knocked it off the shelf and crawled out of bed. The moment his blanket dropped from his bare shoulders, he huffed a breath, chest heaving, and scrambled to throw it back on. The trailer was absolutely freezing.

He was quick to throw on a pair of jeans (which were ice cold) and a T-shirt and sweater. It was no surprise that the water was still not running. And it was Saturday, which meant no one from the utilities was going to give up their weekend to come and help them. Hell, in the wake of the earthquake and all the damage in town, they would be lucky to get any help at all.

He ran a brush through his hair, and whimpered a bit when it sprang up like rabbit ears. With nothing to wet it down with, there wasn't much he could do except hide it under a beanie and hope North didn't notice and force him to abide by the no hats indoors policy.

His teeth he scrubbed sans toothpaste (Miss Tooth would pitch a fit), but brought the brush and paste along with him. He would find time later to brush properly in the store's bathroom.

As he made his way to the kitchen to grab a piece of bread and his backpack, he caught sight of his mother groggily fumbling out of her room. He grunted, but ignored her. Last night had not gone well. For all of his insisting and trying to reason, and then yelling, he wasn't sure she understood or heard, or even cared that they were sinking, falling, fast and hard. And he wasn't so sure why he cared so much.

He gathered up the pile of bills collecting on the table and stuffed them in his bag. And then he left.

* * *

North's World of Wonders was, like most of the businesses lining Main Street, closed. The windows were boarded up, though North had gone through the trouble of drawing a fancy little window onto the plywood, with snow piled on the sill and fat flakes decorating the rest of it. Miss Tooth's fake widow and door were drawn up to match.

North's big, bright red truck was parked on the street, rather than the alley, so Aster pulled up behind it. He could see a pile of broken toys forming the bed already. A terrible thought hit him. What if North didn't need him today? Or couldn't afford to keep him on? What if North couldn't keep the store open?

He felt sick as he slung his bag over his shoulder and entered the store.

It looked a little better than yesterday, but not by much. The glass had been swept up, and a trail had been made from the front of the store to the back, toys stacks in piles on either side. It was a sorry sight. North and his short, silent friend – Aster forgot his name – stood in the midst of it, picking through the wreckage.

The toymaker dusted off a doll and turned her this way and that, his hands lovingly brushing grime away from her face and dress and curls. "I think this one will be okay. Put her with the others, Sandy."

The little man nodded and took the doll, and worked his way over to a shelf, where Aster saw more rescued toys had been set aside. He wondered how long they had been at this.

"Hey, North," Aster greeted somberly.

North smiled – how could he smile? – as he turned, opening an arm to welcome Aster. "You made it! I am glad."

Aster moved to North's side, and accepted the man's easy embrace. Normally, he tried to avoid them, only letting those heavy arms grab him when he was cornered or it was a special occasion. But he couldn't help it today, he wasn't sure if North sensed it, or if the old man needed it to, but god it felt good to have someone hold on to him for just a second.

"There is still plenty of time before Christmas," North was saying, and Aster realized Sandy was moving his hands – signing - and North was talking back, but still had his arm draped over his shoulder. "We will be fine."

There was a crash from the back, startling Aster enough that North tightened his hold on him. Aster peered around North's bulk to see someone new – another teenager – hop through the doorway. Literally. Hopping. As if his feet couldn't stand to stay in place. He was pale, all over. His hair – whiter than white – couldn't be natural. He was wearing jeans and an old blue hooded sweater that was at least two sizes too large.

"Jack!" North turned, dragging Aster along with him. "Come, let me see!"

"North, I apologize, but I don't like it," the new teenager said. He picked up one of his feet and wiggled it. The shoes looked a little worse for wear, but still good.

"You look wonderful. Just fine." He gestured for Jack to move closer, and grabbed him by the sweater once he was in range, trapping him under the other arm. Aster noticed how the other squirmed, and pushed his hand up under North's arm to dislodge it, though he failed to do so.

"Boys." North's voice was loud, but gentle, and caught both their attention. To their mutual relief, he also stepped away from them, and simply left a hand on each of their shoulders. "Aster, I want you to meet my nephew, Jack. He is going to be staying with me for a while, helping out."

Aster felt that sick, sinking feeling again. He wasn't going to have a job much longer, was he? With the store a wreck, how fortunate was it that North's nephew arrived to provide free labor. He scrutinized the pale teenager before him. He looked younger by a year, maybe two. Scrawny under the baggy sweater. His eyes were blue.

Jack was giving Aster the same critical look.

North didn't seem to notice. He beamed through his thick white beard and clapped them both on their shoulders, nearly sending them into each other. "You are going to be wonderful friends!" he cheered.

Aster extracted himself from North's grip and moved back, away from the interloper. "You never mentioned you had nephew." His tone was a little more harsh than he intended, slighted.

"Ah, didn't I?" North started, scratching at his beard as if he didn't notice.

But Jack cut in with, "You never mentioned you had a…" He drew out the last word and waved a hand around searchingly.

"Aster works here." North plucked a nutcracker up from the floor and held up to the light. "He paints the toys."

"Oh. Is that all?" Jack sounded bored. He looked bored. He toed one of the trains with his shoe and frowned at it, clearly unimpressed.

Aster bristled. "Look," he ground out.

"I have a wonderful idea!" North crowed, arms thrown wide. He was grinning like a loon, eyes shining. Aster knew that look. That terrible sick feeling was getting worse. Sandy looked worried, too, so at least he wasn't the only one familiar with North's "wonderful ideas". Jack … Jack was wearing a silly crooked grin.

A grin that vanished as soon as North announced his idea.

"Aster, why don't you show Jack around town? You show him places, and people, and you get to know each other better." North smiled encouragingly at them both.

"But … what about the shop?" Aster asked.

"Sandy and I can handle the mess. It's fine."

"I can show myself around town," Jack protested. "I don't need an escort."

"I know, Jack. But … it is safer if you are not on your own just yet. Hm?"

Jack scowled, but didn't argue. Aster cut a glance between them, and felt he was missing something. Had felt it since he first laid eyes on the pale teenager.

He also knew he wasn't going to win any arguments against North. The giant of a man had puppy dog eyes. It was amazing the things he could talk people into. Hitching his bag up on his shoulder, Aster stomped his way to the door. "Better get paid for this," he grumbled.

A chill wind hit him as he stepped outside and he hunched down into his jacket. He thought about just taking the truck. It would take all of fifteen minutes to show Jack all of Burgess. Ten if he ignored stop signs. That wasn't what North wanted, though.

He heard a deep, soul wrenching sigh behind him and looked over his shoulder. Jack was glaring at the sidewalk, his hands buried in the pockets of his sweater.

"Don't you have a coat? It's freezing."

Jack turned his glare on Aster. "I'm fine. Let's go." He started walking.

Aster followed, and noticed Jack dragged his feet. It got annoying fast.

He had a feeling everything about Jack was going to get annoying fast.


	6. Chapter 5: Getting to Know You

**Chapter Five**

It took all of two minutes for Jack's sour attitude to turn around. By the time they reached the corner, he was bouncing on his toes. He swung around to walk backwards, so he could stare Aster down with the full force of his impatience. "So what are we going to do first?"

"We're going to walk." Aster hunched his shoulders and marched across the street with hardly a glance to see if it were safe. Jack hopped along beside him. "There isn't much to do around here. And if you haven't noticed, things are kind of messed up."

"It's hard not to. Everyone looks so sad." And they did. The few people who were out, picking up the pieces, looked pensive, wary. Unbelievably, Jack smiled. And produced a marker from his sweater pocket. "We should do something about that."

Aster eyed the marker, not liking it one bit. "Like what? Why do you even have that?"

"North let me borrow it. I forgot to give it back." Jack shrugged and bounded off to the nearest boarded up window, popping off the cap as he went. He started drawing bold, black lines on the wood.

"Wait. What are you doing?" Aster shuffled after him, checking the street for anyone who would get them in trouble. "You can't just draw all over someone else's window! Are those… Are you drawing snowflakes?"

"Sure am!" Jack continued to quickly drop snowflakes of various sizes all over the window. It only took a minute – he was, apparently, quite practiced. He stepped back with a pleased grin, the marker vanishing back into his pocket. "Perfect!"

"Right," Aster snorted. He took off down the street.

Jack's grin fell. He tripped over his shoes trying to catch up. "What's wrong with it?"

"Snowflakes."

"What's wrong with snowflakes? I love snow. Who doesn't love snow?" His smile was back.

"It's March, for one thing."

"So? It's never snowed in March?"

"It hasn't snowed in Burgess in something like a hundred years. And," he added, before Jack could say anything else, because he could tell Jack was going to say _something_, "I don't like snow."

"How can you not…" Jack tripped again, huffed, and went on, "How can you not like snow?"

"It's cold."

"It's fun."

"It is not fun. Cold is not fun."

"Snowball fights. Snow forts. Sledding." Jack grunted as he stumbled once again, into Aster this time.

Aster shoved Jack away from him. "Do you walk much?"

"No. I mean yes. It's these shoes. I can't…" He sighed, frustrated, and leaned up against the nearest wall. "I can't wear these." He began tugging at the laces.

"You can't take off your shoes." And yet, Aster didn't do anything to stop the smaller teenager from yanking off his shoes and socks. "Your toes are going to freeze off."

Jack just smiled – that stupid, infuriating smile – and wiggled his toes against the gray sidewalk. "Nah. I feel fine. This is much better."

"Suit yourself." Aster spun around and started walking again.

Jack sprang up beside him a moment later, skipping along on his bare feet. His shoes were tied together and draped over his shoulders.

"Geez, what are you? Twelve?"

"Fourteen. Oh, hey, what's that?"

"What's what?" Aster shoved away the pale hand and pointing finger that suddenly crowded his vision. "The high school?"

"That's a school?" Jack sounded amazed. "Wow! It's huge! Can we go there?"

"Huge? What…?" Before Aster could say anything more, Jack was gone, running across the street to the Burgess High School campus. Aster watched the pale thing flitter around like a hyper bug, peeking through windows that survived, those that weren't boarded up, and checking the doors (they were locked on weekends), and good lord, was he _standing on the railings_? "Get down before you crack your head open!"

Jack did not get down from the rail. He just … stood there, with one foot in front of the other, and clasped his hands behind his back, his head tilted up at the school in fascination. He didn't waver. Aster felt a chill, and it wasn't entirely from the cold.

"There are enough kids in town to fill this whole school?" Jack's voice was awed.

Aster tore his eyes away from Jack's bare feet perched on the thin, curved rail. "Uh, no. This is just the high school. Ninth through twelfth." Jack looked down at him with a blank stare. Seriously? "The last four years. Younger kids go to other schools. There's the junior high before this, and the elementary before that." Jack still looked confused. Aster barked out a laugh. "They don't have high schools where you're from?"

Jack shook his head. "No. There was just one school. It was one building. One room. For all of us."

"Where are you from?" It didn't escape his notice, how Jack spoke in past tense.

He couldn't describe the look that fell on Jack's face then, but thinking back on it later, he would say it was lost. Utterly and completely lost.

And then it was gone, and Jack was smiling, big and crooked, and Aster wondered if he'd seen anything at all.

"Nowhere," was the answer.

"You have to be from somewhere," Aster tried to say, but Jack wasn't listening.

Jack was walking away, into the yellow grass that surrounded the school, flexing his feet as if he'd never gone barefoot on a lawn before. The main street stretched out gray and silent before them, tired and dull. Even if the sky weren't unusual and dim, it would be a sorry sight. The town was broken. The people more so.

"You know what this town needs?" Jack was still smiling. Aster really hated that smile. "Snow."

Aster snorted. "I don't think your little drawings are going to do a lot of good here."

"Not that. Real snow. A snow day."

And to that, the older of the two shook his head, and gave the younger a pitying look. The kind that said, you really are stupid. "Already told you. It hasn't snowed here in decades."

But Jack just smiled. It wasn't the big, goofy smile. It was patient. There was something hidden and secret in it. Aster felt something stutter deep down inside, something he couldn't name.

A small and gentle and white blot – as white as Jack's hair – drifted between them. Aster blinked. Jack's lips parted in a laugh, and he danced back, throwing his arms wide, as fat flakes dropped from the sky. Aster cupped his hands and caught a few, marveling at how cold they felt in his palm before they melted away.

Up and down the streets, people emerged from hiding. There were none alive – save one - who had ever seen snow in Burgess, and some who had never seen snow at all aside from television or pictures. By the time the boys had made their way back to the toy shop, a fine layer of shimmering white had coated every surface, driving away the eerie gray. The day looked brighter, almost normal. People were gathering outside of doors and on corners, wondering if it were a miracle or another curse. Children who had been tucked away indoors were now running in packs, screaming and laughing.

Before they entered the World of Wonders, Aster stopped Jack. "Who are you?"

"Jack." There was that smile again. "You don't really think I had anything to do with this, do you?" And then he was gone, vanishing through the door to tell North about his adventure like an excitable chipmunk.

Aster stayed outside. He looked at the drawings of snowflakes on North's plywood window. Now he knew they were Jack's work. He looked out at the street, at the snow still falling, at the piles of it gathering along the sidewalks and corners, benches and trashcans.

He didn't know what to think.

* * *

**AN:** This chapter was meant to be part of Chapter 4, but it was giving me too much trouble. I wanted to get to know Jack a little before Things Happen.

Thank you everyone who has followed and favorited and read so far! And thank you everyone who has taken the time to leave a review! It means so much to me.

Up next - A dark stranger (though we all know who he is).


	7. Chapter 6: Things That Go Bump

**Chapter Six**

The cemetery looked different under snow.

Stuck out on lonely scrub of land outside of town, it was given minimal care, even during the best of seasons. Overcrowded with generation upon generation of the deceased, the tombstones normally jutted up like misshapen teeth - the new fresh and clear, the old crumbling away. Flowers brought by mourners sometimes marked a grave here and there, but it was otherwise nondescript.

Today, though… Today, the graveyard was glittering, and the stones were all soft mounds of white, gently sloping one into the other.

If he hadn't come here so often. Aster was sure he wouldn't know where to go.

He brushed the snow away from one of the smaller stones. It was simple – a squarish thing with a simple engraving, the letters still sharp and clear as the day they were carved – Emmit Aster Bunnymund – and the dates of his birth and death. He traced over the final year. Last year.

"Hi, Dad." He came here every Sunday. His mother used to come with him, but little by little, her visits became fewer and far between. It had been months now.

He was crouched on his feet, one hand still pressed to the stone. He'd managed to tie his hair back, in some attempt to look respectful, but there was freezing wind today that pulled apart his efforts strand by strand.

"I wish you were here." He's said this every time, but it has always been true. "Mom's getting worse. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to talk to her. I've never known how." He twisted the hair out of his eyes, bowing his head with a long, unsteady breath. "We're not a family without you."

* * *

Aster didn't work on Sundays. He left the graveyard shortly before noon and started back home. Susan, Mom, was supposed to work a full shift on Sundays. She'd still been in bed when he left. He had slammed the door hard enough the rattle the whole trailer.

He knew she would be home when he got there. His hands tightened on the wheel. Another fight over the money they didn't have, and the bills he had tucked away in his backpack was inevitable.

He didn't want to go home.

But there really wasn't anywhere to go. Burgess shut down on Sundays. The only business that remained open was the town's one gas station. He didn't feel like throwing away a few bucks on a soda or candy bar just to waste a bit of time. Once church let out, kids would be all over the park, and he just wanted to be alone right now, so that was out.

There was always the lake.

The forest rose up beside him as he turned onto the dirt road. He slowed, creeping along beside it. A few hours beside the frozen lake was tempting. And yet…

Today, the forest was dark. Darker. The shadows were deep, inky black, and stretching out across the new snow with wicked, twisted fingers.

It was the wrong time of day for that.

He felt a thrill of fear squeeze his chest and pressed his foot on the gas. It was silly, and irrational. He hadn't been afraid of things that go bump in the night (or, in the middle of the day, in this case) since he was a little kid. But the _wrongness_ of it set him on edge. The shadows seemed to reach out for him, pushing him to drive faster.

He slowed once, and only so he could round a bend without sliding into a ditch. And that was when he saw it. A … _thing_ with long limbs and glowing eyes bursting from the treeline. It was hunched, and jerked around, and it was coming right for him.

He didn't scream.

He did scream.

He would deny screaming.

He tried to get away, but he couldn't coordinate his feet with his hand. He tried to shift, hit the gas too hard, popped the clutch, and … the truck died. Hands shaking, he twisted the key and revved the engine, shifted back into first, and carefully released the clutch.

He looked out the side window, at the forest, the shadows. But it was gone. It couldn't be gone. Where was it?

His heart was hammering, his blood was in his ears, his breath was a sob. He rocked the truck forward. His every instinct told him to run. Run as fast as he could.

He looked forward the exact moment he hit it. There was a slam against the hood, and he was looking it right in the eyes.

It was a man. A tall, thin man in a black sweater. His fingers were splayed over the hood, spindly and pale. He had a long face, a narrow, hooked nose, and slanted eyes that caught the light and shone yellow. His hair was dark, and long, and falling all over his face. And he didn't look well.

Aster was still shaking. He was still afraid. Strangers did not often come through Burgess. Jack, at least, had the excuse of being North's relation. This man just ran out of the forest, as if the shadows themselves were after him.

And maybe they were.

Aster fumbled with his buckle, and shoved his door open. He set one foot out of the truck and leaned out, but that was as far as he was willing to go.

"Who are you? What are you doing out here?" he asked. He had hoped to sound more demanding, but he sounded young, and frightened.

The man's eyes darted around. "My name is Pitchiner. Kozmotis Pitchiner. I'm from the university." He turned his gaze back on Aster. "Please, something is out there. There is a town nearby, is there not? I'll pay you."

Aster regarded the man a moment longer. But the encroaching shadows made up his mind for him. Pitchiner from the university didn't look all too eager to linger around either. He jerked his head to the passenger side. "Get in."

The lanky man folded himself into the truck and locked the door. He folded an arm over his waist, sucking in a breath. Aster had them moving at breakneck speed a second later.

"I thought the town was the other way," the man said.

"It is," Aster replied. "My place is closer. You're hurt, and you won't find anything open today."

"Not even a clinic?"

"There's no clinics here, and our doctor takes weekends off, unless it's an emergency."

"I see." The man grunted and shifted around, trying to arrange his long body more comfortably. "And your parents won't mind you bringing a stranger home?"

Aster pressed his lips together, checked the rearview to see the forest slinking away. "Kozmotis is an interesting name."

The man's eyes narrowed a bit, but he didn't comment on the change of subject. "I suppose it is. Most people call me Pitch."

Aster nodded. "Aster."

Silence reigned for the rest of the trip. By the time they arrived at the little trailer, rain was spattering the windshield.

Pitch got out of the truck before Aster could ask if he needed any help. It seemed he was just in a hurry to get out of the cramped space and stretch his body. Aster entered the house, and left the door open. Pitch followed him inside a moment later, limping and holding a hand to his side.

"Take a seat," Aster said. "I'll be back in a moment."

There wasn't much to choose from – two chairs at the table and a small couch. Aster saw the man move toward the couch. A wise choice – the kitchen chairs were cheap and uncomfortable.

He stopped by his mother's room first, peeking in to see if she were there. She was. And she was still sleeping. Or sleeping again. He had no idea. Though, right now, he supposed it was a good thing that she was safe and sound at home, and not out there with the shadows and strange things.

He pulled a box out of his closet and opened it up. He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing as he dug through the clothes, pulled out a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. He crushed the fabric in his hands, breathed deeply, and shoved the box back in the closet.

There was a first aid kit under the sink in his bathroom. He brought it and the clothes back to the living room. "The clothes might be small still, but they're clean." He set the new set on the couch next to Pitch.

The man's lips twitched. "If they're yours, I doubt they'll fit at all. I must be a foot and a half taller than you, at least."

Aster shook his head, avoided looking at the man. "They were my dad's. He was taller. Not as tall as you, but…" He shrugged. "I would offer to wash yours, but the water's not running. The bathroom is down the hall on the left. Do you need help with anything?"

Pitch groaned a bit, but got to his feet on his own with a shake of his head and a smile that was slightly grimace. "No, thank you. It isn't that bad. A gash, really. It just stings a bit." He gathered the clothes and took the kit from Aster. "You've been a tremendous help, Aster. I will be back in a moment."

"Sure." Aster backed away into the kitchen, but watched to make sure Pitch went into the right room. (Not that there were many choices.) He dug the phone out of his back pocket and pulled up North's number, pressed the call button, and waited for his employer's loud, boisterous voice to answer. He always answered.

Except this once.

"Yello!" It was Jack.

"Why do you have North's phone?"

"Because he's making me lunch."

"Make your own lunch." Aster checked the hall. "Look, can I speak to North real quick? It's important."

Jack hummed, and Aster could hear a muffled conversation. Then, North's voice, so loud, he had to hold his cell away from his head. "Aster! Something is wrong?"

"No, not… Well, I don't know. I just thought someone should…" He stopped, counted to three. "I ran into this guy on the way home today. He was banged up, so I brought him home so he could clean up. Mom's here, but…" He paused again, and North made a sympathetic sound. "I just thought someone should know. You know, just in case."

"You know his name?"

"Yeah. Um, Cosmo… Cosmic Pitcher. Pitchiner. He goes by Pitch. He said he's from the university. I picked him up down by the lake."

"Pitch?" Jack yelled something in the background, but then North said, "Aster!" suddenly, loudly.

But whatever he said after that was cut off. Aster's phone died. He pressed the power button a few times, but the screen wouldn't even flicker. "I thought I charged you," he muttered. He stuck it back in his pocket.

The trailer rattled, startling him. Across the roof, rain pelted down, hard and fast. He looked out the window to see it coming down in slanted sheets. Every time the wind struck his home, it shook.

"That storm came fast."

Aster whirled at the sound of a smooth voice coming up behind him. He hadn't heard Pitch's footsteps over the rain. He was right about the clothes. The T-shirt looked fine, but the pants ended a few inches above Pitch's ankles. Still, it was harder than he thought it would be to see someone else wearing them. He looked away. "The, um… The weather has been weird lately."

"I know. That's why I'm here." Pitch crossed his arms loosely. "Your little town seems to be ground zero for whatever this strange phenomena is."

"Do you know what's happening? Why?"

Pitch was silent long enough that Aster did look at him again, and saw a man deep in thought. And then a lean shoulder shrugged, and Pitch said, simply, "No. I am as lost as anyone."

Aster frowned, but accepted the answer. "It's going to get dark before the storm lets up, and I don't want to chance the roads once the sun goes down." Pitch nodded his agreement. "You can have the couch. We'll see about getting you into town in the morning."

"That is generous of you. Thank you."

"Sure." Aster stepped away. "I'll get you some blankets."


	8. Chapter 7: Stuck In a Storm

**Chapter Seven**

The trailer shuddered as the wind buffeted against it. The rain continued to pound down against the roof, like stones on tin, making any kind of conversation near impossible. They tried anyway, raising their voices over the din. It was that, or sit terribly close in a small room and find ways to ignore each other.

These were the times when Aster wished he had a television.

"You're not from around here." Pitch was seated on the couch, drinking cola, the generic kind. He didn't care for it, but it was all they had.

"What makes you say that?" Aster had his own can of cola. He had pulled one of the kitchen chairs around, so he and Pitch wouldn't have to squeeze in together on the small couch.

"Your accent. Australian?"

Aster nodded. "We moved out here a couple of years ago." He shrugged uneasily, bringing his drink to his lips. "It was Dad's idea."

"Ah." Pitch leaned forward some, his face the picture of concern. It was almost too perfect. Too practiced. "And he's not around anymore?"

"No," Aster bit out. He tried to look away from the man's golden-eyed gaze, but found he couldn't. "What about you? You sound like a Bond villain."

Pitch's laugh was rich, with a touch of sarcasm. "Do I? I was born in London, and spent most of my youth there. I came to America in my early twenties, to study."

"Like what? Are you a geologist or something?" Those were the usual people who wandered down from the university.

Pitch leaned forward over his knees, set his can on the floor. Not once, this entire time, had they lost eye contact. "No, nothing like that." His voice had changed again. It was smooth, low. "I deal in something more … abstract. Obscure."

Aster frowned, confused.

"Dreams, Aster." He scooted to the edge of the couch, so he was closer, invading Aster's space. His eyes were all the teenager could see now. And much to Aster's dismay, he couldn't move away. He couldn't blink. His throat locked up on his voice as he tried to speak. "Or, more accurately, nightmares." Pitch moved, and Aster felt bone-thin fingers rake across his temple. "Tell me how your father died."

He wanted to refuse, but the memory rushed forward. It was all he could think about, all he could see. His lips began to move. He couldn't stop them.

Someone coughed.

Pitch drew back suddenly, and Aster gasped and fell forward, and for a brief moment everything went black. He felt a hand on his shoulder, holding him up, keeping him from tipping out of the chair and onto the floor.

He heard his mother's voice.

"Who are you?"

He blinked, his vision clearing. And with it, everything else. He couldn't remember any of the last few minutes. He knew something had happened, they had been talking about … something. But … Pitch smiled and withdrew his hand, stood up to face Susan with his hand extended.

"Kozmotis Pitchiner. You must be Aster's mother?"

Susan was leaning up against the wall. Her hair was blonde streaked with gray, unbrushed, but so curly she could almost get away with it. She could be pretty, but right now she just looked tired. Her eyes were Aster's eyes – bright and green. Her shirt was wrinkled all over, and Aster was pretty sure she'd been sleeping in it for days. He was just thankful she put on pants before coming out.

She didn't take Pitch's hand.

"Ah." Pitch lowered his hand. "Your son rescued me from the elements. I got caught unawares near the wooded area. I will be gone by morning."

Her eyes cut to Aster, who was still puzzled, and holding his head. "What's wrong with you?" She didn't have Aster's accent. Hers had more of a Southern American flavor to it, but not too strong.

He felt sluggish, his tongue leaden. "What?"

"Why didn't you take him into town?" She moved into the room to take a better look at him. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, where it was starting to throb. Her felt her cool hand press against his forehead and linger for a moment.

"No fever." She took her hand away. "There's asprin by my bed. Go take some. Mister … Pitchiner, was it?" Pitch nodded, and she nodded back. "Mr. Pitchiner can earn his keep by helping with dinner"

Aster gripped his head and used the wall for support as he made his way to his mother's room. Behind him, Susan said, "I hope you like beans and hot dogs."

He was pretty sure Pitch laughed just to humor her.

* * *

**AN: **This chapter was pretty short, and unplanned! I had a look at my timeline and felt there needed to be more Pitch and Aster before moving on to the next scene. It probably should have been part of the last chapter, actually.

Mom finally made an appearance!

Jack the gang will return next chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 8: Family, Sheesh

**Chapter Eight**

Aster woke to his alarm going off. The sound was sharp and loud and he ripped the cord out of the wall when he snatched it off the table and threw it across the room. The light – dim as it was – that snuck into his room was too bright. His head still ached, though it felt like there was a layer of cotton wrapped around his brain, muffling the pain.

Last night was a hazy memory. After he took his mother's asprin, he'd returned to the kitchen to watch Pitch cut up hot dogs and pry open cans of pork and beans while his mother pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge. He couldn't recall if Pitch had taken one or not.

There had been forced conversation around the table.(Sort of.) Aster and Pitch had sat in the chairs, and Susan sat on the kitchen counter. Susan talked about her job at the diner as if she hadn't been ditching it for the last week. Aster's contributions were one-word groans that loosely resembled words. He choked down a few beans and a bit of wiener before giving up and announcing he was going to bed early.

He had slept in his clothes, and didn't have the energy to change. He staggered from his bed to the bathroom. He didn't expect the faucet to work when he tried, but water sputtered out into the sink. _Hallelujah_. Headache be damned, he got the shower running so the water would warm up and stripped out of his clothes for a long overdue scrub down.

Maybe it was the heat, or the pressure of the water on his tired muscles, or the just the thought of being clean again, but he felt better. Not better enough to grab a new set of clothes, but he didn't feel like death anymore. He raked a hand through his wet hair and made his way out to the living room.

He was surprised to see Susan sitting at the table, staring out the window. There were cans of beer scattered around the kitchen, and he couldn't tell which were from last night or if any were from this morning.

He took another look around the room, frowning. There was a blanket folded neatly on the couch. On top of that, a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. "Where's Pitch?"

Susan shrugged. "Gone. I heard him leave early this morning."

"Gone." Aster moved to the living room window and looked out. It was snowing. It must have been snowing for some time. There was nothing but white as far as the eye could see. "On foot? Why would he do that?" It was a long trek into town without transportation. "Did you say something to him?"

She scoffed. "Like what? I didn't scare him off, if that's what you think." She grabbed the can nearest her and took a long drink. "Guy was a weirdo anyway. You shouldn't have brought him home."

"It didn't feel right leaving him out there."

"Then you should have took him back to town," she snapped.

"Here was closer. Besides, it was Sunday."

"Who cares if it was Sunday? It was irresponsible to…"

"Don't talk to me about irresponsible!" He rounded on her, but she was still seated, looking out the opposite window. He clenched his fists, opened his mouth to tell her all the ways she'd been letting him down this last week, this last year.

But the phone rang.

It didn't ring often. Aster had his own cell phone, and Susan didn't give the house number out to anyone who didn't need it. She didn't move to answer it, so after five rings, the machine clicked over. Aster was already grabbing his bag off the floor and looking for his keys.

After the beep, a gruff voice hesitantly started. "Hey, Susan. It's Gill. Listen, I can't keep you on if you're just not going to show. The girls are overworked as it is, you know? I'm real sorry. I know things are rough, but… I gotta let you go. You've got a check here still. I can mail it to you, if you don't want to come in. I'll, uh, see you around or somewhat."

Aster snatched his keys off the counter, feeling his point had been made. Susan didn't even react. He tore the front door open.

"Aster." He stopped at the sound of his mother's voice, but didn't look back. "You're so much like your father, it scares me sometimes."

He deflated a little, and didn't slam the door when he left like he was going to.

* * *

He was late to school, but that didn't matter. The doors were locked, and only half the kids – those who lived in town or drove themselves – were milling around wondering what was going on. There had been no reports of a snow day, though that seemed to be the case. Not a single bus had arrived. After a while, several of the kids headed home or elsewhere. Aster lingered with the stragglers.

It was twenty minutes before the principal arrived, claiming surprise that any kids had bothered to hang around. He looked nervous, fidgety, like he couldn't wait to get out of there. They were all dismissed, and told all schools in Burgess were closed until further notice. He left, and little by little, everyone else dispersed in varying degrees of confusion and excitement.

Aster went straight to the World of Wonders, parking on the street rather than the alley when he saw the closed sign was still up. With all the damage to the shop, it wasn't likely North would be open to letting him work a full shift on a weekday. As much as he needed the money, he knew the toymaker simply couldn't afford to pay him for full-time work. Unfortunately, he could think of nowhere else to go. His entire life for the last year had revolved around school and the toyshop.

North's friend, Sandy, was becoming something of a permanent fixture. He was once again helping with the cleanup, sorting through a much smaller pile of toys. Those that could be saved were placed on the shelves, and those that were beyond repair were tossed in boxes. One wall of shelves was lined with toys, so at least that much was salvageable.

Miss Tooth was working along with Sandy, dressed down in jeans and a knitted green sweater. Both were alerted to his presence by the bells over the door. Sandy turned and waved to him, while Miss Tooth stood up from where she was kneeling and rushed over to him.

"Aster, you aren't in school." She looked worried. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything is fine." He smiled to reassure her. "School's been cancelled. Snow day, I guess." He stepped around her. "You're not taking any patients today?"

She shook her head. "That earthquake did something to the wiring. There's no electricity in my suite, or the one above me. Someone's coming to look at it this afternoon."

"Ah hah!" There was a shout from the back, and North was suddenly there, looming in the doorway. "I thought I heard Aster's voice." In two great steps, the giant of a man was standing over him, his hand engulfing Aster's shoulders. "You had me worried. You didn't even say good-bye last night on the phone."

"What? Oh." Aster wiggled back out of North's grasp. "Sorry about that. My battery died."

North made a sound, like a grumble, like he didn't quite believe it, like he would accept that answer, but he didn't like it. "The man you picked up, there was no trouble?" he asked.

"No. No trouble. We just talked some, but I wasn't feeling well so I went to bed early. I guess he hung out with Mom for a while. He took off on his own this morning. I have no idea where he went."

"And what did you talk about?" North was trying to sound casual, but there was something cautious in his tone.

Aster gave him an exasperated look. "I don't know," he sighed. Then paused, confused. Because it was true. He blinked, and pressed a hand to his head, where the ache from this morning was trying to resurface. "I don't know," he said, slower.

He missed the look of alarm the passed between Sandy and North, and Miss Tooth clasping her hands and biting her lip.

He missed Jack entering from the back and leaning up against the doorframe. "Wow. Did I miss something serious?" They all looked at him, but Sandy was the only one who nodded. Jack gave a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god."

"Jack." North's voice fairly boomed, stern, a warning. Aster rarely heard that tone of voice from his employer, but he knew what it meant. Someone was in trouble.

But Jack swept into the room as if he didn't notice. Or didn't care. His smile was self-assured, cocky. Aster felt his head throb, and his hackles rise. Miss Tooth shrank back, her eyes going wide. He didn't blame her. No one liked getting caught in the middle of a family squabble.

Jack sidestepped to Aster and looked him over. His lips pursed, his head tilted, and then he nodded, as if he'd seen something in the glare Aster was giving him. He slipped right by North. "Is there anything to eat in here? I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Miss Tooth nervously tittered. Sandy was nodding beside her.

North was going red in the face. "_Jack_. Do you not see that we were … Jack! Do not ignore me."

Jack ignored him. He got behind the counter shifted things around behind it, until he produced the Sugar Bowl with a whoop. He didn't get much farther than setting it on the counter before North was right behind him.

Aster couldn't hear them after that. They went nose to nose, whisper-yelling so only they could hear each other. Every so often, Aster could pick a word or two, but nothing that clued him in on what they were fighting over. North made grand gestures the whole time. Jack kept his arms crossed, except once, when he flailed an arm out in Aster's direction. He was sure it didn't mean anything.

And then Jack said something that had them both staring at each other for a long, tense moment. Jack looked so serious it was hard to believe it was Jack at all.

Then the big man sighed. "If you are certain." That, everyone heard.

Jack nodded. North relented by moving a step back. Jack's smile was back, as if it never left. Without even looking, he stuck his hand in the Sugar Bowl and fished around for a handful.

North had him by the wrist and was wrestling to shake the candy free a second later. "You had candy for breakfast!"

The tension gone, Miss Tooth dashed across the room, looking positively stricken. "You let him have candy for breakfast? North!" She grabbed a bag – her purse, Aster realized – from beside the register and pulled out an apple. "This is better for you."

"What? No!" Jack pushed the fruit away. "Isn't that your lunch or something, Miss Tooth? I can't take your food."

"I have more. It's fine. See?" The dentist grinned and opened her purse wide.

Jack grabbed the bag right out of her hands and laughed. "Oh my god! Do you carry apples around just to give to people?" He looked up at her, at her sheepish expression. "You do! There's a whole orchard here." He handed the purse back, and accepted the apple. "Thanks. Though, now I don't feel as special, knowing you give _everyone_ apples."

"Next time, you can have a special apple."

Aster – once again – felt he was missing something. Everyone was pieces in a puzzle, but his was that one that just didn't fit right no matter how it was turned or forced. It just hadn't really occurred to him until … well, until things started going weird. He was content to sit in his corner and paint alone, and isolate himself from his classmates, and keep everyone – even Miss Tooth and North – at arm's length.

Now that his corner was gone – even temporarily – he didn't know what to do.

And seeing how easily Jack fell in among them, as if he had been here all along, just drove it all home. Miss Tooth was beaming at him with adoration. North doted on him like a father. Even Sandy, who had gone back to sorting the toys, would cast a fond look over once in a while.

When did this happen?

Aster shouldered his bag and started for the door. "I need some air," he said, cutting off North who was just about to open his mouth, and Miss Tooth who had clutched her chest with that worried look of hers. "I'll be back around three." He pushed out into the cold air, digging his keys out of his pocket.

He heard the bells over the shop door jingle as he was unlocking his truck, and looked through the windows to see Jack stepping out. He was wearing shoes again, but no coat. Just a hoodie.

He leaned over the hood, smiling. Hopeful. "Where are you going?"

Aster sighed. "Why?"

"So I can go with you?" So very hopeful. "North doesn't like me hanging around the shop while they're working. I'm not very good for production."

"You don't say."

The smile dropped, and dark brows lowered in a glare. "Look. I won't be a bother…"

"Too late."

The glare hardened. "Please. I'll… I'll buy you lunch."

Aster glared back, considered. "Lunch, and a candy bar after."

"Deal!" Jack was smiling again (damn it) and hopped from foot to foot until Aster got into the truck and unlocked the passenger side door. He jumped in, and wiggled around in the seat, his hands twitching on his lap.

"They don't have cars where you're from either?" Aster revved the engine a few times, to make sure she wouldn't die. "Buckle up."

"Well, yeah. My folks couldn't afford one though." He reached back for the belt, snapped it on. "North's is bigger. And cleaner. And shinier."

"North bought his brand new last year."

"Yours smells … lived in."

Aster was pretty sure that was polite way to say it stank. "I can leave you here."

"I like it."

Aster gripped the wheel, then dropped his hand to the stick with a sigh, and moved it into first. With a twist of the wheel and shift of his feet, they were moving down the street, away from the World of Wonders.

"Can I touch the radio?"

"I will break your hand."


	10. Chapter 9: Babysitter's Club

**Chapter Nine**

Gill's Diner was less than two minutes away from the World of Wonders. They could have walked, but then it would have taken eight. Not that they were in any hurry. According to the clock on the dash, it was approaching ten. There were still a couple of hours to kill before the promised lunch.

Aster wasn't sure he would survive that long. Jack hadn't stopped shifting around in his seat since they'd taken off.

The parking lot was crowded, but not full. Most of the cars he recognized from the high school. And no wonder. With school canceled, most of the kids would have nowhere to go except home. He found a spot along the side of the building and killed the engine. The truck's dying rattle seemed louder than usual. He was afraid she wouldn't make it through the spring.

"Bit early for lunch, isn't it?" Jack asked. "But I'm cool with that," he added quickly, when Aster glared at him in reply and got out of the truck. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed after.

Gill's was a retro fifties diner. Now. Back when it was built, in the fifties, it was just a diner. Gill's father took care to keep the place in tip-top shape, and Gill carried on the tradition. North had a hand in keeping quite a bit of original furniture and architecture restored. And if something couldn't be saved, it was replicated in loving detail.

Aster didn't hold the door open for Jack, and it would have caught him in the face if he hadn't turned and shoved at it with his shoulder. He barely caught Aster's clipped, "Grab a booth," before the other teen was weaving through other teenagers to get to the bar.

Mrs. Bennett was working behind the counter, sliding plates of pancakes and greasy burgers and fries (even if it was too early) over to yapping teenagers. Elvis Presley's _Hound Dog_ was blaring out of the jukebox in the corner, but Aster could barely hear it over the noise. He couldn't remember the last time the diner had been this busy. It took him a few tries to flag the woman down.

Mrs. Bennett dropped a chocolate shake off to the girl sitting next to him and leaned over the counter to hear him better. "Sorry, Aster. I didn't see you." She tucked her hair behind her ear. It was falling out in various places. She looked like she could use a break, but it also looked like she was the only waitress on shift at the moment. Probably because of his mother. "What can I get you?"

"Actually, I was hoping to grab Mom's last check." He looked guilty for it, at least. "A couple of sodas too, would be fine." Gill did hate loiterers.

Mrs. Bennett nodded and moved away with a, "Find a seat. Be right with you," as if he were anyone else. He did just that, scanning the small diner for a head of white. It wasn't hard. Jack had found them a booth by the door. The worst table in the place.

Aster slid into the seat across from Jack, dropping his backpack next to him. "You realize every time the door opens, the cold air is going to blow right in on us?"

Jack's arms were folded on the table. He looked pleased. "I know. It feels great."

"Only you would think so." Aster unzipped his bag and pulled out the stack of bills, tossing the lot of them on the table with a notebook. He flicked at Jack's hand when he tried to reach over and take one of the envelopes. "Don't touch."

"Okay, but what are you doing?"

Aster flipped open his notebook to a clean page. "I've got something that needs doing." He made a neat pile of the bills and opened the first one. "You're going to sit quietly until I'm done."

He wrote "electricity" on the paper, then the amount of the bill, set the bill aside, moved on the next one. Water. Then the rent. It went on like this, and Jack was blessedly quiet, even if the rest of the diner wasn't. He was nearly halfway through when a squeal made his ear twitch.

"Bunny! Bunny, Bunny, Bunny!"

Aster looked up in time to see a little head of blonde duck under his table. It reappeared in the gap next to him, as little Sophie tried to scramble up onto the seat. She couldn't quite get a grip on the leather upholstery, so he reached under and hauled her up by the seat of her pants. She wiggled up onto her knees and latched onto his arm with a, "Hi, Bunny!"

Jack laced his fingers together and tucked them under his chin. His smile was crooked and far too amused. His eyes were sparkling. "Bunny?" Aster decided he hated this smile most of all.

"I am _so_ sorry!" A panting Jamie arrived then, collapsing dramatically against the table. "I tried to catch her, but she saw you, and she just _ran_. You looked busy."

Aster pried Sophie off his arm so he could sit her on his lap. "It's alright. I don't mind." When the toddler reached for his pencil, he flipped to a new sheet of paper and moved the bills out of her reach so she could scribble without ruining anything important.

Jack was still watching with that damned smirk. Jamie gave him a tentative smile. Sophie looked up after a couple of quick scratches and declared him, "Bunny friend!" Something flickered in Jack's eyes. That amused look on his face faltered, but then his smile just grew wider.

"Sure am," he said. "My name is Jack."

Sophie regarded him a moment, then pointed at him with her pencil. "Bunny friend!"

Jack snorted.

Aster grumbled under his breath and jostled her with his knee. "Jack, Sophie," he said gently. "Can you say Jack?"

"Hmm… No." She went back to drawing, no longer interested.

"It's okay," Jack laughed. "She can call me whatever she wants." He tilted his head to the boy hovering at the end of the table, who shot glances his way every second or so, trying not to be obvious. "And who are you?"

"Jamie," the boy said. "Sophie's my baby sister. I'm supposed to keep her out of trouble today."

"Pleasure to meet you, Jamie." Jack stuck his hand out to the boy. It was stared at. "You're supposed to shake it."

"Ah." Jamie pinched the tip of his fingers and shook his hand from side to side.

"Smart ass," Jack declared, earning a glare from Aster, a cheeky grin from Jamie. "I like you."

Mrs. Bennett appeared behind Jamie, her hand resting on his head. "I hope they aren't being a bother." She set two glasses of Coke on the table, out of reach of Sophie. "There was no advanced notice of the schools closing. Even the preschools shut down. I couldn't line up a sitter on short notice. I don't know any of the kids here very well. Oh, here." She pulled an envelope from her apron pocket and held it out to Aster.

Aster took the envelope and added it to the stack of bills. "If you need someone to look after them for a while, I'm not due back at the store until three."

"I don't want to trouble you, Aster." Mrs. Bennett chewed her lip.

"Mom!" Jamie grabbed her arm and tugged. "Please! Please, please, please!"

"It's no trouble," Aster said. "I'm already babysitting this guy." He jerked a thumb at Jack. "Jamie and Soph will be a cakewalk."

Mrs. Bennett smiled. "It would really help a lot. Thank you." She gave Jamie a gentle nudge. "Go gather your things. I'll get your lunches."

Jamie sped off through the diner with a whoop, and Mrs. Bennett made her way back behind the counter, taking a few orders as she went. Aster shifted Sophie to one knee and used one hand gather up the bills.

"I can take her," Jack said, "if you want to finish what you were working on."

Aster's hold on Sophie tightened a bit. He shoved the bills in his bag. "It's good. I can do it later." The tone of his voice said _hands off _and _don't ask again._

Pregnant, awkward silence followed, broken only by Sophie's pencil furiously racing over the paper (and sometimes the table). Jack sucked down his Coke in one go. Aster didn't touch his. Jamie arrived an eternity later with two bags, one camouflage green and the other sparking pink with Tinkerbelle on the front, and a pair of winter coats none too dissimilar from the bags. Mrs. Bennett wasn't far behind, with a plastic bag full of Styrofoam boxes. It looked like an awful lot of food for two kids.

"Thank you, so much," she said. She looked on the verge of tears as she bent over the table to give Sophie a kiss on the cheek. She did the same for Jamie, who promptly wiped it off. "Kids, be good for Aster. Just bring them back here. I'm not off until three-thirty."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Bennett hurried back to work.

Aster bounced Sophie to get her attention. "Soph, you wanna go to the park?"

"Park!" The toddler threw up her arms, drawing forgotten. The pencil in her hand flew over Jack's head, much to his amusement.

Aster tucked the notebook into his bag with the bills and zipped it up. "Let's get out of here, then."

* * *

The park was a couple blocks from the diner. There wasn't enough room in the truck for all of them, so they walked. Aster and Jamie carried their own bags. Jack got to carry Sophie's bag and lunch.

As soon as they left the diner, Sophie darted off down the sidewalk, and Aster took off after. Jack and Jamie trailed behind, watching as the toddler hopped from snow pile to snow pile.

"North's nephew? Really?" Jamie tilted his head up at Jack, frowning, but curious.

"Yep." Jack had his hands in his pockets, and kicked at the sidewalk whenever the snow was thick enough to send enough flying up in chunks. He smiled down at the ten year old. "You don't look convinced."

"You don't look anything like him."

"I'm not a million years old."

"How old are you?"

Jack shrugged. "Sixteen."

Aster, who had stopped to pull Sophie out of a pile too deep, perked up. "Hm? You didn't say that."

"Say what?"

"Fourteen. You said you were fourteen." He set Sophie on her feet, but held tight to her hand so she couldn't run off without him.

Jack's head tipped to the side, and his smile was absolutely radiant. "I know how old I am. You must have heard wrong."

"N…" Aster shook his head. His throat closed up on a protest. He was positive he heard fourteen. But why would Jack lie about his own age?

Sophie jerked on his hand, with a cry of, "Bunny! Park!"

"Yeah, Bunny. Park." Jack bumped his shoulder as he moved past him. Jamie snickered.

Aster scowled. "Okay, listen. Only one person gets to call me Bunny, and you are not it. Don't do it again."

Jack gasped and pressed his hands over Jamie's ears. "Are you _threatening_ me? In front of _children_?"

"I'll do more than threaten you." He hauled Sophie up into his arms, then up and over his head, settling her on his shoulders. She grabbed a fistful of his hair with a happy cheer. He gently wriggled her fingers free with a wince.

"That was really effective." Jack deadpanned. He hopped ahead a few steps, then turned to walk backwards. "So. That the park over there?" He tossed his head to the expanse of white over his shoulder, broken up by some trees and play equipment.

"Yeah, that's it," Jamie confirmed.

Jack started bouncing. "Great! Last one there is a stinky kangaroo!"

"A … _what_? Hey!" Aster's indignation was lost as Jack and Jamie took off running, laughing.

Sophie's little hands found his long hair again, and gave it a good pull. "Go! Go, Bunny!"

He sighed and started off after the other two – walking, so he could untangle her fingers from his hair again. By the time he caught up to them, Jack and Jamie were embroiled in a fierce snowball battle. They were good enough to leave him out of it.

He set Sophie down near the toddler playset and wiped off the nearest bench to sit and watch her.

He heard Jamie ask between throwing snow and being pelted with it, "Is that your real hair color?"

Jack breathlessly replied. "Yeah."

"That is so cool."

Aster made his best effort to tune them out until lunch.

* * *

Aster made the decision for an early lunch. While Jack and Jamie were able to keep themselves occupied in the snow for who knows how long, little Sophie got bored quickly. Aster could keep her attention for only so long before she wanted to do something else. The boys – that was how Aster began to think of them – were all over the place, and playing too rough for the little thing to join in. After an hour and a half of swinging and sliding and attempting to put together a snowman and playing hide-and-seek and tag and more swinging and more sliding and running around, Sophie got grumpy.

Grumpy Sophie didn't want to do anything.

So he declared it lunch time, called the boys over, and headed to the park's gazebo, where the snow didn't get inside. The seats around the perimeter were damp, but the center was dry.

He found a note inside the bag Mrs. Bennett had packed.

_I knew you would refuse if I offered, so I didn't ask. There's turkey sandwiches for you and your friend. _

He smiled and pulled the boxes out, checking each one to determine which belonged to who. Sophie got hers first, so she would stop being grumpy and have something to do. He set aside the ones for Jack and Jamie, and when they came bounding up to the gazebo with snow falling off their heads and shoulders, he handed them over.

"What is this?" Jack took the box, but looked confused. It was one of those moments when he didn't smile.

"Mrs. Bennett made us something too," Aster said. He popped open his own box. There were chips as well, and a pickle.

"But why?"

Aster looked up at the question, but Jamie answered. "Because she likes to feed people."

Jack just held the box for a while, like it was a gift, or something reverent. The kids were mostly finished before he finally opened it up and started eating. Even then, he was so careful about it, Aster wanted to ask if he'd never eaten from a diner before. But he had a feeling the answer was no.

Aster sent the kids to roll around the snow some more while he cleaned up the mess. Jack was still working through his chips, one at a time.

"You are the slowest eater I have ever met," Aster decided. He dumped the garbage in the bin by the gazebo.

Jack made a noncommittal sound and shrugged.

Aster settled onto the steps where he had a clear view of the children. "I don't think you ever told me. Where are you from, anyway?"

Another shrug. "It's … far."

"That's not an answer. What's it called?"

"Uh…" Jack's lips worked silently. It shouldn't have been that hard to give the name of his hometown. Aster was ready to snap at him out of annoyance, until Jack's eyes lit on something in the distance. They went wide, and his breath shook.

Aster turned to look at what had caught his attention.

A figure, tall and rail thin, stood among the trees. Dressed in black, it shifted with the shadows, almost vanished among before emerging again. And then he faded from view completely.

"Pitch." Aster could not see him clearly, but he knew it was him. It could be no one else.

* * *

They wandered town for a while, to waste the last couple of hours before returning the children to the diner. Jack was unusually quiet, and even Jamie lost interest in his awesomeness when he couldn't dredge up more than one-word replies and half-hearted smiles.

Aster asked the obvious question. "Do you know him?"

But Jack said nothing in return.

They stopped numerous times to let the children play, or to chat with locals, and Aster kept his eyes open for Pitch. But the dark figure never reappeared.

It wasn't until they began their trek back to the diner that Jack found his voice. "I have to go," he said. His energy seemed to return as well, as he started bouncing on his toes.

"Go. What? Now?" Aster had an armful of Sophie, who was half asleep and mostly dead weight.

"Yeah. I have to." He dropped the Tinkerbell bag off his shoulder and passed it over to Jamie, who looked just as confused as Aster (though a little less pissed). "I'm sorry."

"Where are you going?" Aster demanded.

Jack skipped backwards, away from them. He hesitated, then answered, "I'll see you back at the shop." He turned and ran.

"_Where_ are you _going_?" Aster repeated. He couldn't go after Jack, and the brat damn well knew it.

He didn't get an answer.

* * *

The kids were delivered safely to their mother. Mrs. Bennett offered Aster forty dollars for his trouble, but he begged her to keep it for herself. (He would find two twenties stuffed in the outer pocket of his backpack later, and laugh with tears in his eyes.)

When he arrived at the World of Wonders, Jack was not there. And Jack was still not there when he left for home later that evening.

* * *

**AN: **This took way too long to write! I got really busy with other things while trying to put this together. I read it over a couple of times, so I hope I caught most of the mistakes. Also - this is the longest chapter yet! I still feel not a whole lot happens here.

Next Chapter: Where did Jack go?


	11. Chapter 10: Jack's Missing Piece

**Chapter Ten**

Jack was still missing when Aster returned to the toy shop the following morning. North and Miss Tooth were both hovering outside, between their doors. On any other day, it would seem a normal sight, but for the way Miss Tooth chewed her lip and clutched her hands, and the way North marches back and forth in agitation.

Aster didn't bother to enter the store, just leaned up against his truck. His thoughts turned to yesterday. To how distracted Jack had been after seeing Pitch, leading up his running off.

"I can take another drive around town," Miss Tooth said weakly.

North shook his head roughly. "You did that already. I have done that, twice, last night. He won't answer his phone."

Aster had a terrible feeling. "North." He felt sick. "I should have said something yesterday." He just didn't think Jack would be so stupid. "I didn't think he would be so stupid…"

North stopped pacing. "Aster, you know something?"

Aster cringed. "I might."

He waited for the anger, for a reprimand. He felt hands close over his shoulders, and North's voice, full of worry, said, "Please tell me."

Aster swallowed. "When we were out with the Bennett kids, out at the park, we saw Pitch. That man I told you about?" North nodded for him to go on. "Not clearly. He was off in the trees. But it was him. I know it was. Jack … After that, he closed up. And then he just up and took off!" He looked up at North pleadingly. "I had the kids. I couldn't stop him, and he wouldn't tell me where he was going. He said he'd come back here."

North frowned deeply, but lifted a hand to cup Aster's cheek to pat it lightly. "You did nothing wrong. We will find him." He released Aster and turned, muttering, "Foolish boy."

"What can I do?" Aster took a step away from his truck, then a step back, when North crowded close again.

"Go home, my boy."

"Home?" Aster felt indignation rise up. But more than that, guilt, and disappointment. That part of him that said he should have said something sooner was also whispering that North truly was upset with him, and was sending him away. "I don't want to go home. I want to help you find Jack."

"Go home." North's voice was more firm now. "This man you met, he was not a good man. You realize this now, yes?"

Aster's jaw flexed as he snapped his teeth over more protests.

"Your mother, Aster. Is she alone?" A new fear took root. "Go home. Call me when you get there, tell me you are both safe."

Aster gave a clumsy nod and retreated, climbing into his truck without a word. He hated to leave, but he couldn't stay. It didn't occur to him to just call his mother until he was outside of town. But it didn't matter. She didn't answer.

* * *

He was halfway home, tearing down the dirt road with his eyes trained on the shadows bending and writhing out of the forest alongside him. His heart was in his throat. Death itself could step in front of him, and he would run it right over. He wasn't stopping for anything.

Except Jack.

Jack walking several feet off the road, and heading into the forest. The white hair, even in the dimming daylight, in the shadows reaching out, stood out like a beacon.

A cloud of dust billowed up around the truck as Aster slammed on the brakes. He threw himself out of the cab and raced around the front, to see Jack staring back at him, a deer caught in the headlights.

"Jack!" he yelled. "Get over here!"

Jack wavered, then shook his head, turned, and ran. Away. Into the forest. Into the darkness.

Aster cursed and jumped back into the truck, backed up to the lake road some twenty yards back, and hauled off after him.

Jack was fast. And Aster was limited to the winding road, forced to slow for the turns. The shadows were thick here, swallowing up everything. He clicked on his headlights, and the light vanished into a void a few feet ahead. At least there was _some_ daylight, weak as it was, but he had some close calls with a few suddenly appearing trees.

He could see flashes of white through the trees, and he knew where Jack was going.

He broke free of the twisting road and trees and skidded to a halt at the edge of the lake. Jack was ahead of him, pounding across the ice.

The shadows, at least, didn't move away from the trees, and didn't touch the lake at all.

"Jack!" Aster stepped onto the ice, and his foot glided out from under him. He caught his balance, looked up. Jack was still running. "Damn it. No way," he muttered. "I am not coming after you!" he shouted. And to himself, he sighed. "You're going to make me come after you."

He tested the ice again. He had never been ice skating. One would think, with an eternally frozen lake at their disposal, the town would take advantage. There was a lot of superstition surrounding the lake, and then others who said it simply wasn't safe. It was something of a taboo to actually set foot on the ice.

But kids still did it. They put socks over their shoes, so they wouldn't slip and fall. Aster had never done it himself, so he didn't know if it actually worked, but he knew he wasn't going to get to Jack with his worn down sneakers. He sat on the bank and reversed his shoes and socks, and ignored how stupid it looked, and how cold his feet now felt.

The next time he stepped on the ice, he didn't slip. Much. There was a little give between his sock and shoe, but the fabric stuck to the ice just enough that he didn't go ass over end. A few careful steps led to a slightly more confident walk. But it still took several minutes to reach the place where Jack had stopped.

The center of the lake had been disturbed. The perfect mirror flat surface had buckled here, and cracks spread like a spider's web. It was here that Jack sat, crouched on his knees, a rock in one hand, slamming it into the ice over and over. His other hand scraped away chips of ice frantically. He was muttering, and his breath was hitching, but Aster couldn't make out the words.

"Jack?" Aster wasn't sure what to make of this. He knelt, uneasy, worried. "Jack, what are you doing?" Jack ignored him, continued stab and dig at the ice. He could see now that the ice was tinged red. He grabbed Jack's free hand, and found it torn and bleeding.

That seemed to shock Jack out of whatever trance he had put himself under. His blue eyes snapped up, fever bright and shimmering. He jerked his hand back. "I need it, Aster. It was supposed to come with me. I don't know why it didn't." His voice trembled, but there was determination behind the desperation.

"What was?" Aster heard the scrape of Jack's rock, pushing down into the ice again. He grabbed Jack by both wrists to stop the action, and looked down, through the cracks and the scar Jack had made. And there was a … stick. Just a stick, with a kind of loop at one end, just under the surface.

Jack squirmed, twisting and flexing his hands to try and get them free. "Let go. _Please."_

Aster held fast, and tightened his grip every time Jack tried to pull away. "Do you have any idea what you sound like right now?"

"Aster…" Hopelessness filled Jack eyes, slumped his posture. His hands went still.

"Jack, everyone is worried sick about you. You need to come back with me." He gave the captured hands a tug. "Right now."

Jack started to shake his head. Aster grit his teeth and shifted his weight to his feet, ready to drag the smaller teen up against his will.

"I would go with Mr. Bunnymund, if I were you."

They both froze. The voice echoed out over the lake, coming from nowhere and everywhere. Aster cast around, but everywhere he looked the shadows moved. They were moving _in_, creeping up to the waterline, and leaking onto the ice like spilled ink.

He grabbed Jack by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. His bare feet. How did this guy still _have_ feet? "That's Pitch," he said. Jack's eyes were fixed on the stick trapped under the ice, but he nodded mournfully. "We have to run."

Jack didn't move. Aster grabbed his hand and started pulled him after, resisting at first, praying his socked feet didn't drop him on his face.

"I told you, Jack. I'm getting stronger." The voice – Pitch – followed them across the ice. "I let you off easy. You should have gone home to daddy."

"For the last time, he isn't my daddy!" Jack shouted.

Aster yanked Jack forward when it felt like the other might stop out of fury alone. "I take it something happened last night," he puffed out. "And if we make it out of here, you owe me an explanation."

Aster had a tight hold on Jack's arm, determined to keep them together, no matter what. Darkness pushed in on all sides, and right ahead of them, pooling between them and the truck. As the distance between them and inky shadows shrank, they slowed, and finally had to stop.

Aster's chest heaved, and every muscle ached. If they didn't get moving again, he wasn't sure he would be able to move at all. He readjusted his grip on Jack's arm, bunching the sleeve of his sweater. Told himself it was so they stuck together, so he could be sure Jack was safe, so it wouldn't be his fault if Jack was lost again. But maybe he was also terrified and didn't want to be alone.

"Have you nowhere to run?" Pitch's voice was as inky black as the barrier blocking their way.

The shadows were moving, inching closer. Pitch chuckled, and it rang like thunder. They didn't have to hurry, not with their prey surrounded on all sides. Aster could hear a scratching now, against the ice, under the darkness, and whispers, voices grinding, gnawing. He backed away.

But Jack stepped forward, and looped his arm through his so he could not retreat too far. "Stay close to me," he said. And he went still, only for a few heartbeats, but it could have been an eternity.

When Aster's nerves could take it no more, he moved back again, with a pleading, "Jack, let's go." Even though there was nowhere to go. He could feel the shadows were moving much faster behind them, closing in the distance.

"No." Jack grabbed his arm with both of his and held fast. "It's coming."

"What…"

It started with a howl, low and lonely, breaking through the trees. The wind caught their hair, and Jack smiled. Smiled! A flurry of snow followed, tumbling down from the heavens and swirling around them, pushed by the wind. It grew so thick, Aster could scarcely see Jack beside him. He felt a tug, and they were running. The white spun around them, blocking everything, even Pitch's voice, if he were still mocking them.

He waited for the shadows to break through the white, to snatch him off his feet and tear him apart.

It never happened. He slammed into something hard, pressed his hand against cold metal, and realized they were at his truck. He tore open the door and shoved Jack inside, and crawled in after him. The keys were still in the ignition.

He didn't have to wonder how he was going to get out of the tangled forest in a whiteout. As soon as they were in the truck, the storm stilled. White lay softly over the lake. (Though if Aster had a moment to really look, he would see that only part – their part - of the lake was covered.)

The snow moved, shifted. Aster swung the truck around and took them up the lake road as fast as he dared. There was snow here, too, but it was thinner, and it too was breaking apart as the shadows fought free. They reached out and dragged against the metal and glass. There was loud pop on Jack's side, and the side view mirror was gone.

The tires spun and the truck slid into a fishtail as they broke free of the side road and turned onto the county road. Aster regained control and slammed the gas to the floor. Jack twisted around to look behind them.

"They're still coming." He scrunched down lower, so he was peeking over the seat. "Where are we going?"

"Home."

* * *

**AN**: I sat down and worked out the entire plot, and it looks like it will be 23 chapters all told - which means we're approaching the halfway point! I even have all the chapter titles worked out! And as always, thank you, thank you, to everyone for reading, and for reviewing.

Up Next: Jack and Aster have a sleepover.


	12. Chapter 11: The Dark Closes In

**Chapter Eleven**

"They're still coming. They're still coming."

"I know that, Jack. Turn around and shut up."

"I can't." Jack was still twisted backward, with his eyes trained on the road behind him. Aster had no idea what he was seeing, and he didn't want to.

"Suit yourself." The trailer came into view. He swung the truck wide to hit his driveway at twice the speed he should have. Gravel flew when he hit the brakes.

Jack cried out and slid back into the dashboard.

"That's why we wear seatbelts." Aster kicked his door open, grabbed Jack by the arm, and yanked the other out after him.

They sprinted up the steps and into the trailer. Aster slammed the door shut and twisted the deadlock. "Mom!" The kitchen and living room were empty. Jack was at the window, looking out. "Do you see a little red car out there?" Jack didn't answer, and Aster didn't wait. He took off down the hall, yelling, "Mom! Mother!" He checked her room, but she wasn't there. She wasn't in the bathroom. He even checked his room.

He had his phone in his hand when he reentered the living room. Jack was still hovering by the window. He brought up his mother's number, pressed call, and waited. When it went to voicemail, he fisted the cell, then threw it onto the couch.

"She must be in town." He pushed a hand through his hair, yanked on it in agitation. "Probably at the bar. We have to go back."

He was taking quick strides back to the door, ignoring Jack's telling him, "No!" and "You can't!" He felt skinny arms encircle his waist just as he unlatched the door and threw it open.

At the edge of his property, where the kicked up gravel of the driveway met the rough dirt road, stood a wall of black. It blocked out the faded daylight. It was deeper than night. They could see nothing through it. Not the endless fields of dead grass. Not the darkened forest, the rolling hills, or the jagged mountains far away.

It crested like a wave, breaking high overhead and tumbling down over them. The sound was claws scrambling for purchase, broken whispers, groans and wails, and teeth snapping and grinding.

"Shut the door." Jack pulled him back, away, but Aster was frozen in place. The pull became a shove that sent him sprawling backward onto the floor. The sound of the door slamming shut, the lock clicking in place, snapped Aster back, his wide eyes rising to Jack, who was pressed against the door, as if his body could block the terrible dark thing outside from getting in.

"What is that?" Aster got himself to his knees, but he was shaking too hard to get farther. "Wh…"

Everything went dark. All at once, all light vanished.

It hurt his eyes to try and see through the black. Even Jack's impossibly white hair was swallowed up, all traces of the other boy flicked away with the rest of the room. He couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own labored breathing. He crouched, trembling, on the carpet.

Something cold slid over his hand. His reaction was instant, and blind. His hand struck something soft, that folded to the side, and his mind caught up a second later. By then, two thin hands had found his forearms and were traveling up to his shoulders.

"J-Jack?"

"Yeah," came the reply, right in front of him. "Sorry, I should have…"

"I didn't mean to…" He followed one of Jack's arms back to a bony shoulder. "Where did I get you?"

"Rattled my teeth a bit. I'm okay." This close, he could hear tremor in Jack's voice, how it shook with every exhale. His fingers clenched and flexed over Aster's shoulders, twisting the cloth. But it was real, and solid, and it meant neither one of them was dealing with this alone.

"My phone." Aster felt Jack jump, startled, and realized his voice might have been too sudden, too loud. He pet the shoulder under his hand. "It has a light. It's on the couch."

Jack said, "Okay," barely over a whisper, and clung to his shirt as they inched over the carpet. Aster found the couch with one outstretched hand, and felt his way up and around the cushions until the familiar weight of his cell was in hand. He sank to the floor, fumbling with the buttons along the side, until the lock screen lit up. Barely. It was as if someone had turned brightness settings down the dimmest, and then some.

He flipped the screen up, and found the tile that would turn his phone into a little flashlight. The result was disappointing. It wasn't as good as a regular flashlight, granted, but it should have lit up the tiny living room. This, barely illuminated their faces if they leaned right over it. He checked the battery, but it was full.

"I guess this is all we have," he said, apologetically.

"It's more than we had before." When Aster looked, Jack was smiling. It was small, and strained, but it stood out in the poor light.

They huddled where they were, at the foot of the couch, knees touching, heads bent together, arms entwined and cradling the phone between them. There was a scraping, gnawing, whispering rising from outside, and with it a lone voice murmuring, ranting, laughing.

Aster shuddered. "I'm starting to think Pitch isn't from the university."

Jack made a strangled kind of sound, like he wanted to laugh, but thought better of it.

"Who … What is he?" The hand not holding the phone was wound around Jack's elbow. His thumb jumped over the bone. His fingers kneading over the sweater that hid how thin Jack really was.

Jack was still a moment. His expression went blank. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I mean, I do. Sort of. But I don't know the story." His eyes seemed a darker blue when they lifted from the phone to catch Aster's confused look. "He's a monster. He's fear itself."

Something screeched down the side of the trailer, like nails on a chalkboard. Like rows and rows of claws scraping across the metal. Both boys flinched and hunched down until it came to an abrupt halt, snapping off at the end of the trailer.

"Can they get in?" Aster breathed.

"I don't think so." The _not yet_ hung heavy between them.

Aster nodded, though he was not comforted. Outside of their tiny circle of light, the darkness was heavy, oppressive, consuming. The whispers and groaning outside rose and fell, but were louder every time. "What happened between you and Pitch?"

"You want to know that now?" Jack tone lacked any true incredulity, though he tried to force it through the fear.

"You owe me an explanation. Distract me."

The corner of Jack's mouth lifted. "Fair enough." He shifted some, leaning more into the couch. Aster moved to follow, so he could hear Jack's voice over the freakish noises outside. "When we saw him at the park? That wasn't the first time I'd caught him trailing after you. And after, while we were walking the kids around, I kept catching glimpses of him. Everywhere."

Aster frowned. "I was looking for him. I didn't see him."

"He knows where to hide."

"And what? You know where to find him?"

Jack was silent a moment, and that was answer enough. "I don't know what he wanted, or what his plan was, but I knew, whatever it was, I couldn't let it happen. So I went after him."

"Alone."

Silence.

"You're really stupid."

Jack tried another smile. "I prefer reckless. And charming?"

Aster tried a smile of his own, though neither of them felt the humor. "No." Then, "What happened?"

"We talked." Jack shrugged.

"Talked. Jack, you were gone all night."

Jack's eyes dart down and away. Aster leaned in to try and get his attention again. "It was a long talk." He swallowed thickly, and shrugged again.

Aster didn't want to ask, but, "Did he hurt you?" Jack didn't look hurt, hadn't before.

Jack still wouldn't look at him. He shook his head with a quiet, "No."

Aster didn't believe him. He leaned in closer, ducking his head to see Jack's face better. "Jack?"

Blue eyes hesitantly rose, and Jack lifted his head. "I was trapped. I got away, obviously. But for a while, I wasn't sure I could. And I realized no one knew where I was, or how to find me, or if they would. And he knew that. He knows what you're most afraid of, and he wrenches it out of you, and he forces it back on you." He jaw snapped shut, and his hid his face again. "I just wanted to warn him away from you. That's all."

"Well, don't." Aster hissed, not daring to speak louder than a whisper. "You don't have to do that."

Jack's fingers tugged at his arm, almost desperate. "Yes, I do."

Outside, the trailer shuddered, and a demon-dark laugh rode the growing moans and whispers.

* * *

**AN**: Something else was supposed to happen here. But things took a slightly different turn once I started writing.

Up next: The sleepover from hell continues. We get to dive a little into Aster's background.


	13. Chapter 12: Find a Light

**Chapter Twelve**

"Yes, I do," Jack had said. What did that mean?

Aster was confused, and angry, and he wanted to grab Jack by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. He wanted to protest. He wanted to understand. Because this was wrong, and ridiculous. And it didn't make any sense.

His thoughts were stolen by another wave of terror as something slammed against the side of the trailer, shaking it down to its very foundations. Which was not hard. The trailer stood on cinderblocks. Everything jumped with the impact, and a deep shudder followed, rattling the windows and creaking the floorboards. Across the room, there was a pop, and a series of scratchy, broken sounds. Like a rock striking a windshield, hard enough that cracks burst out from the impact.

Aster held his breath. Jack asked, "What was that?"

"The window." There was another pop, the sound of more cracks racing through the glass.

"Do you have anywhere that doesn't have windows?"

Every room had a window. Even the bathroom had a small one over the shower. "Closets. But that won't do us any good…'

Jack's hand found his wrist. "Let's go. Hurry."

_Hurry _meant crawling down the hall, Aster in the lead with Jack's hand on one of his feet. Aster held his phone out ahead of him, but the light only reached a hand's span across the carpet before fading away into nothing. Useless. It was nothing more than a small comfort.

Another pop in the living room prompted them to crawl faster. He shoved his bedroom door open and shuffled quickly in the direction of the closet, feeling blindly for obstacles like the bed and dresser. There were scratching sounds against the window in here too, like a sharp rock dragging down the glass.

"It's not very big," he said. He wiggled the accordion door open as wide as it would go and felt more than saw Jack move up beside him. "You first."

"No, you go." Jack pushed against his shoulder. "If they come through…"

Aster made a sound of frustration and grabbed Jack by the back of the neck. "I wasn't asking. Get in there, stupid." He shoved the other with enough force that, even on their knees, Jack went sprawling into the closet. There was a thud that was probably Jack's head meeting the wall. By the little light, Aster could make out Jack's legs twisting and tucking up inside the small space. He quickly followed, squeezing in between Jack and the box of his father's things. It took both of them to work the door shut from the inside.

Elsewhere in the house – probably the living room – a window shattered. Another quickly followed. Maybe the kitchen. They both jerked at the sound, and froze, huddling as close to the phone light as they could.

The moans were louder. The whispers had words now, dark and terrible promises. Sharp things scrabbled against the floor and walls, up the hall. The bedroom door banged off the wall. The bedroom window burst. The whispers became screams.

Aster wanted to scream with them. He bit down on his own hand and squeezed his eyes shut.

Jack moved, shifted up onto his knees. Aster felt a panic rise up in him, afraid any movement would make too much noise, or knock the closet door open. He grabbed frantically at Jack, trying to get him to just sit still and be quiet.

Jack settled, and pushed Aster's hands away with a shake of his head. He reached forward, to either side of Aster's head, and pressed his hands over the other teen's ears. He had pulled the sleeves of his sweater down over his fingers, as padding. Aster realized he couldn't hear much of anything through the pressure of Jack's hands. Aster caught Jack's faint smile in their pinprick of light, but his eyes were tight, and he cringed at something Aster only barely heard.

So Aster returned the favor. He didn't have long sleeves to wrap up over his hands, but Jack looked grateful all the same to have the heels of Aster's hands pressed tightly over his ears, muffling the chaos right outside the flimsy closet door.

Neither one could say how long they sat there, shivering over the phone with their hands over each others' ears. It felt like hours. It might have been. Even when it seemed the noise had died away, they were too afraid to release each other to find out for sure. It was the light on the phone, suddenly flaring up and lighting up the entire closet, that convinced them that perhaps it was over. It was with tremendous reluctance that Jack dropped his hands, and Aster took his back. Both were stiff, sore.

They were greeted with silence.

"I think … I think we're okay…" Jack whispered.

But still, they didn't move. "It could be a trick," Aster whispered back.

So they carefully rearranged themselves, so they were sitting side-by-side in the small space, their backs to the wall, and their feet against the box. But it was uncomfortable, and Jack had sharp elbows that had a tendency to dig in no matter where he put his arms. The wall was hard and unforgiving on their heads and backs. They both quickly dissolved into restlessness.

Aster attempted to send a text to his mother, and then North, but both were marked undeliverable.

"We should try to get some sleep," he decided, though he was sure he would not be able to. Jack nodded solemnly, and looked just as uneager to do so. He leaned forward with a sigh and took a shirt from the box. "Here, we can use these clothes for pillows." He hated to do it, but yanking any of his shirts down from the hangers overhead would have made too much noise.

Jack leaned up as well, and took a couple of T-shirts from the box to roll up into something of a cushion. In doing so, he uncovered something else, and the shirts were quickly forgotten. He reached back into the box, and touched the textured cover of a book. It was hard to tell by the light, but it looked as though it had been painted – though some of that paint was flaking off. He lifted the book up to read the title.

"The Warren."

Aster abandoned his mission to find a comfortable position to take the book – gently – away from Jack. "It's nothing." But the way his hand hovered over the painted cover, the way his eyes lost focus, said otherwise.

"It's something," Jack said. They still spoke in whispers.

Aster nodded, just barely, and settled back against the wall. "My dad and I … We made this."

Jack bunched his shirt-pillow behind his head and leaned in next to him. "Can I see?"

Very carefully, Aster lifted the cover. It was a sketchbook. Each page was full of images, some simple pencil drawings, some ink, some full color. Fields and hills dotted with flowers, ancient twisting trees and curling vines, rivers of every color, tunnels stretching up and back and out and over, great stone structures carved with symbols. Two hands had worked to create this world on the pages.

"My father was a great artist," Aster said, tracing lightly over a pink river, curving through a field of red and white flowers. "But he always made me feel my contributions were just as valuable as his." Below the river was a simple tree, with a cloud top colored in green crayon and curlicue vines. "We would spend hours, and days, creating this underground world. Years…"

As he turned the pages, the drawings that were his slowly improved, gained depth and detail, began to emulate those of his father. "We called it the Warren."

"It's beautiful." Jack was feeling heavy, leaning into Aster the way he was, but he was being still, so for now it was okay. "How do you get there?"

"Get there?" Aster turned the page. "It doesn't exist. You can't get there."

Jack nudged him. "That doesn't matter. You still thought of a way to get there, right?"

Aster didn't answer right away, because Jack was right. He had. "It's silly," he said.

"Tell me anyway."

So he did. "When I was small, when we still lived in Australia, my bedroom window was right across from the closet. In the afternoon, the sun would shine in, and light this perfect rectangle, right inside the closet. Right on the back wall. It looked like a doorway. Like … like Narnia." His lips twisted up in a smile, and he forgot they were stuck in a small closet. Forgot about the darkness, and the fear. "I thought, if I was brave enough, if I just _believed_ enough, I could walk right through. Sometimes, I would reach out, and I … wanted so badly to fall right through the wall." His voice trailed off, distant with memory.

"Did you?"

"What?" Aster blinked.

"Did you ever try to go through?"

"No. I never touched it. I wasn't brave enough. I knew if my hand touched the wall…" He didn't want to say, but Jack was looking at him expectantly. And as if he already knew. "My heart would break," he confessed. "The Warren … This book was my, and my dad's idea of what would be on the other side of that light."

He turned the page, but that was it. The last few pages were blank. There had been plans to finish it last year…

Jack shifted next to him, and an elbow dug into his ribs. "Can you show me again?"

"You're like a little kid." But he flipped back to the beginning of the book.

"You're like a cranky old man." Jack made himself comfortable, curling up his thin little body and laying his head on Aster's shoulder with a grin. Before the other could complain, he said, "Thank you for sharing this with me."

And Aster didn't feel he could shove the other away after that, so he relented with a sigh.

* * *

**Up Next**: Jack _really want__s_ his stick.


	14. Chapter 13: Coiled

**Chapter Thirteen**

Aster woke to the sound of pounding.

Groaning, he tried to move, but every inch of him hurt, and he was pinned down on all sides. He opened his eyes to find Jack pressed against him, fast asleep and drooling on his shoulder, The Warren cradled loosely in his arms. Jack must have taken it from him after he fell asleep.

It was dark, but not as dark as before. The light on the phone was gone, the battery drained. Light snuck in from under the closet door. It felt like morning.

There was a loud thud on the other side of the house.

Aster squirmed under Jack's weight and jostled the other with his shoulder. "Hey," he hissed. "Wake up."

Jack whined in protest. Somehow, he got heavier.

"Get. Up!" Aster heaved against him with his entire body.

Jack's head dropped, then snapped up. He blinked blearily. "What? Why? Where are we?" He rubbed at his face. "God, I feel awful."

Another thud. A crash. It was the door. Someone – something – broke through the front door. They both tensed, and waited.

"Aster!" the someone-something yelled. Heavy feet pounded through his small home.

They relaxed. "It's North," Jack breathed. Aster reached over Jack to shove at the accordion door. "We're back here," he called.

There was no graceful way for them to tumble out of the closet. Aster couldn't even feel his legs, and he doubted Jack was much better. They both wound up in a heap on the floor, staring at black boots folded over red plaid pants.

Jack rolled onto his back with a laugh. "Did you come here in your jammies, North?" But then North was on his knees (and it shook the house), and dragging Jack up into his arms. And Jack was all flailing arms and legs, crying, "No, no, no! Don't… Aww. Fine." He let the big man hug him, and even patted him on the shoulder. And after a while, squirmed, and said, "Okay, that's good. We're done now." And then, a moment later, "North, I'm serious. Time to let go."

Aster pushed himself up to his knees, wincing as the feeling began to rush back into his legs with the feeling of pins and needles. His room was a disaster, torn to shreds. His bed was stripped bare, his dresser upended and the contents scattered all over. The window was shattered, and glass glilttered in the dismal morning light.

North looked haggard as he finally released Jack from the hug, but cupped his pale face with both hands. "I was so frightened." He tilted Jack's head to the side, and lightly brushed a finger over a blot of color at the corner of his mouth. A bruise.

Jack tried to jerk his head away. "It's nothing," he said.

"Is that where I hit you?" Aster felt a pinch of guilt.

North looked at him curiously. "You, Aster?" But he seemed relieved, at the same time.

"It was an accident," Jack said. "It was dark. I startled him." He reached up to push North's hands away from his face, clearly fed up with the contact. His fingers slipped free from the sleeve of his sweater, and before he realized he'd made a mistake, North had seized his wrist and gathered his hand up so he could examine every finger.

"Did Aster do this too?"

Fleeing the lake, the shadows, the confusion, the fear, the dark… Aster had forgotten all about Jack's hands. And Jack never said a word, never complained once. But now Aster could see blood dried to every thin finger and in splotches along the sleeves of his sweater, dark bruises at the tips and knuckles. His own shirt was bloody, where Jack had held on to him.

Aster realized, when nothing but silence reigned for a long, tense moment, that Jack wasn't going to answer North. "He was trying to dig a stick out of the ice," he supplied.

Jack shot him a glare.

North sighed heavily, said, "Jack…"

But Jack tore his hand out of North's grip and staggered to his feet. "No. Don't…" North reached for him, but he dodged and practically ran for the door. "Just don't."

North ran a hand down his beard and shut his eyes, then looked at Aster. "You are okay? I came as soon as I could. I tried, all night, when I didn't hear from you."

Aster nodded. "Still shaken," he confessed. "But I'm not hurt or anything." He looked at the door, where Jack had gone. "I'm more worried about him. I think something happened while he was missing, but he wouldn't tell me."

"We must give him time." North gripped Aster's shoulder, and then yanked him into a hug. "I am glad to have found you safe. Your mother…?"

Aster shook his head against North's chest. "She wasn't here, and I couldn't get her on the phone. She must be in town." He pulled back, looked up at North, hopeful, and scared. "That's the only place she could be, right?"

North smiled and gave him a light squeeze around the shoulders. "We will find her. Come. Let us get back to the shop first. Miss Tooth is frantic."

The rest of the trailer was as much a mess as the bedroom. Furniture broken and thrown, glass everywhere. They found Jack sitting on the steps outside, picking at his feet.

"You walked right through the glass, didn't you?" Aster sat down next to him. He could see a few shards still lodged in his heel, and little cuts all over. "Why don't you wear shoes?"

"They're heavy," Jack said. "I feel … stuck." He grunted, pulled a bit of glass out and went for another one.

"Stuck?"

"To the ground." He got the last couple out quickly and flexed his toes, then stood. Aster didn't think that was the smartest thing, open wounds and all. "Can I ride with you?"

North was in the doorway. "Jack, I think we should talk."

"I don't want to." He hopped down the steps, and took strides toward Aster's truck.

Aster stood. "I don't mind taking him." He smiled up at his boss. "You said he needs time, right?"

North frowned, but conceded with a nod. "Yes. Fine. I will follow you in to town." He thumped Aster's shoulder as he moved passed. "So no speeding. I know how you drive, young man."

Jack was already in the car, folded up in the seat with his head against the window and his eyes closed, when Aster got in. He only spoke once on the trip.

"I want to go back to the lake."

"No way in hell," Aster bit out.

As they passed the forest and the lake road, Jack had opened his eyes. At one point, his bruised fingers, caked with blood, stretched toward the door handle. "Don't even think about it," Aster had warned, and accelerated, hoping Jack wouldn't be dumb enough to dump himself out of a speeding truck. Jack looked defeated, heartbroken, but tucked his hands away and closed his eyes and didn't say another word.

* * *

Miss Tooth was, as North said, frantic. As soon as they entered the shop, she was on them, darting between Aster and Jack, her hands hovering over them, checking for injuries. Jack made several attempts to try and skitter away from her, unsuccessfully. Once she saw the bruise on his face, and the blood, there was no escaping.

Aster slipped away behind the counter while she pushed Jack into a chair and ordered North to bring her a first aid kit and a wet rag. His cell was dead, and he didn't bring his charger, so he helped himself to the store's landline.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Jack said. Miss Tooth took a rag from North and gently wiped the blood from his fingers. "I can do that myself." She shushed him.

Aster dialed Gill's Diner and asked Gill if anyone there had seen his mother. No one had.

"How did this happen?" Miss Tooth wrapped Jack's fingers in bandages. Jack didn't answer. "Do you have a clean shirt? North, he needs a clean shirt!"

Aster dialed up Grundy's Tavern and asked if anyone there had seen his mother. No one had.

North scratched his beard. "I don't keep spare clothes in the shop. He's got cuts on his feet too."

Jack glared.

Aster dialed up the Main Street Grocery and asked if anyone there had seen his mother. No one had.

Miss Tooth lifted one of Jack's feet and made a distressed sound. "How did this happen? Where are your shoes?"

"I left them by the lake." Jack's lips twitched when she began to clean away the dirt and blood.

"What were you doing at the lake?" Miss Tooth applied bandages to Jack's feet.

Aster dialed up Mrs. Bennett's house and asked if she had seen his mother. She hadn't. She asked if he was alright. He lied.

"I don't _need_ your permission!" Jack yelled. He pulled his foot away from Miss Tooth and stood up.

Aster hung up the phone. He missed something, while talking to Mrs. Bennett. Jack and North were facing off again, and Miss Tooth was backing away, worried.

"We are only doing what is best for you," North said. He had his hand up, placating, his tone gentle, but firm.

Jack tossed his head. "You don't know what is best for me! _I_ know what is best for me!"

"We are here to protect you. Protect each other."

"Protect me!" Jack barked out a laugh with no humor. "Since when? That isn't why I'm here!"

Aster raised his hand. He really wanted to know what the hell was going on here.

"I have to go back," Jack said.

"No!" North's voice boomed. "It is too dangerous!"

"I don't care!" Jack backed away. "Why don't you get it? I have to! I need… It's a part of me, North."

North softened, reached out for Jack, who evaded. "I do understand. But we cannot afford the risk. I thought we lost you."

Still, Jack was taking steps toward the door, shaking his head. "I have to."

Aster didn't doubt that, if he wanted to, North could have stopped Jack. Fast as he was, Jack was small, and North had one hell of a reach. But North didn't move as Jack made a quick dart for the door. He didn't have to.

Someone else was already there, blocking Jack's path. He pulled up short, and stumbled back, as the Witch stepped into the shop. His eyes went wide.

She smiled. "Hello, Jack."

"That … that's not fair," he said weakly.

* * *

**Up Next: **Jack's obsession with his stick continues.


	15. Chapter 14: She's Not a Witch

**Chapter Fourteen**

The Witch – the Widow, the oldest woman in Burgess - looked the same as she did that day when Aster spoke with her beside the lake, though she had tied her hair back, and was using a cane instead of a walking stick. Sandy followed her into the store, and skirted around her to join Aster at the counter with a chipper wave. Aster returned the wave with less enthusiasm.

"I really wish someone would tell me what's going on," Aster said quietly.

Sandy made an "Oh!" gesture, and started signing quickly.

After a moment, Aster tapped him on the shoulder. "Um, thanks, but I don't understand."

Sandy pursed his lips, then nodded and hurried away to the back of the shop. Feeling nicely abandoned, Aster grabbed a few pieces of candy from the Sugar Bowl and hopped up on the counter. Miss Tooth gave him a disapproving look as she pulled a stool around to join him. They did their best to pretend the Widow and Jack weren't staring at each other just a few feet away in the most awkward way imaginable.

They – the old woman and Jack - both looked sad. The Widow reached up and touched Jack's cheek. And Jack looked more than sad. There was loss, something Aster had seen once before, the first time he had asked Jack where he was from. Confusion furrowed his dark brows.

"Pip?"

She smiled.

There was nothing – nothing at all – that Aster could see that connected the Widow to Jack. Until she smiled. Her skin was a healthier shade of pink. Her eyes were dark where his were pale blue. Her hair was faded with age, but there were streaks of brown that said it had once been darker, and certainly nothing like Jack's snow white head. But they had the exact same crooked, open mouth smile.

"You've been gone a long time," she said.

"Yeah, I guess so." He sighed, and his shoulders sagged. He smiled for her. It was still sad. But … It was acceptance, Aster realized. Jack swept the Widow up in a hug – a very gentle hug. Like she might break. Like _he _might break.

Aster adverted his gaze and popped a candy in his mouth to suck on.

North dusted his hands off, and looked quite satisfied. "Good. All is settled then."

"Uh, no," Jack said, pulling away from … Pip, was it? "Did you think bringing my sister here was going to…"

He didn't get to finish, because Aster had inhaled his candy, and was choking on it. He flailed a hand between the Widow and Jack, even as his face turned brighter shades of red. Miss Tooth was ready to drag him down from the counter and dislodge it when he, very painfully, managed to swallow it whole.

Jack asked, "Are you okay?" And really did seem concerned. And amused.

He gasped out, "Sister?"

"Uh, yeah. My sister." Jack swept a hand through his hair, and left it hanging on his neck. "Pippa, Aster. Aster, Pippa."

The Widow inclined her head. "Philippa Russell. We've met, though we were not formally introduced."

Aster could only manage a weak, "Huh." Looking around, it appeared no one else found it odd that Jack would have a sister so much older than him. So very, very much older. It didn't even seem possible. Maybe it was. Maybe Jack's father was some withered old man in his … He'd have to be at least a hundred now, if he were still alive.

Jack began to slowly bounce on his toes. And his eyes snapped to the door once, twice. The way he worried his lip was a good sign he was getting ready to forgo any attempts to further argue his desire to return to the lake, and just make a break for it.

North didn't even turn around. "Don't even think about it."

Jack made a frustrated sound, but Pippa laid a hand on his arm, and whatever he was about to say – yell – was swallowed back. He settled on glaring with his lips pinched shut.

Sandy returned, with a stack of books. He paused to take in the scene, then calmly walked to the counter where Aster was sitting and placed the books beside him. He tapped them with a finger. The one on top was titled _The Battle for Earth_, by Sanderson Mansnoozie. Thumbing through it, he found it to be an illustrated children's book.

"You wrote these?" Aster asked Sandy.

The little man nodded happily and pushed the books closer to Aster.

"You … want me to read them?"

Sandy nodded again.

"Sure." He wasn't sure if or when he would have the time, or even be in the mood, but they might be a welcome distraction at some point.

Sandy then turned to North and began to sign. He pointed to Jack, which caught the pale teen's attention. North stroked his beard, and grumbled some.

"No, I don't think it's a good idea," North said.

"What? What is he saying?" Jack hopped over and hovered between them. Aster leaned forward to hear and see better. Even Pippa had moved in closer, her brows drawn and her body tense.

North shook his head. "Not important."

Jack shot him an incredulous look, and Sandy snapped his fingers and started signing again, quickly, furiously. He made another gesture at Jack, which just made Jack more curious.

"_What_?"

North sighed. "Sandy thinks he can help you get your staff."

Jack was bouncing again, a smile quickly growing. He bent to look Sandy in the eyes. "Really? You really can?"

"It is _dangerous_." North protested.

Jack glowered, but Sandy placed a hand on his shoulder, and it calmed him some.

Pippa stepped forward. "North is right, Jack. I have been watching the forest. The shadows grow stronger by the hour."

Jack pulled himself up straight. "All the more reason to get my staff back." He rounded on North. "And you know it!"

"We will find another way," North started.

But that anger sparked in Jack's eyes, and Aster could see they were about to launch into another yelling match. So he smacked the countertop with both hands and asked the question that had been plaguing him since he first found Jack clawing at the ice. "And why is this staff so important anyway?"

Everyone fell silent and exchanged glances, and Jack finally said, "It's powerful. Powerful enough to stop Pitch."

Aster sat back, confused. Disbelieving.

North muttered, "Maybe."

Jack shot back, "What do you mean, 'maybe'? It stopped him last time."

"Last time?" Aster asked, but was ignored.

"He wasn't so strong last time," Miss Tooth said. She had been so quiet this whole time, Aster had forgotten about her. He turned wide eyes on her. Was she a part of all of this too?

"So he's stronger now," Jack insisted. "Which means we need everything we've got. _Everything._"

Sandy nodded. He pointed to himself, and to Jack, and signed something. For a long moment, North stood silent, thinking.

"You think you can hold the shadows back long enough, Sandy?" the older man asked.

Sandy nodded again. Jack bit his lip, looked hopeful.

North sighed. "Bring tools. You'll never get it out with a rock and your bare hands." He yanked the now grinning boy into his arms. "And for god's sake, be careful."

Jack grunted, and tolerated the embrace for a handful of seconds before squirming free. "I will, I will. I'll have Sandy with me!" Before anything more could be said, he darted off to the back of the store, presumably to look for tools.

Pippa watched him go, her brows pinched with worry. "Just the two of them. Is that wise?"

Aster blinked, dumbfounded. "You're letting him go back to the lake?" Again, he was ignored.

Miss Tooth nodded fervently. "She's right. We should all go. Don't you think?"

"No." North shook his head. "It is better that we stay here, Toothiana. If something goes wrong, if they fall, someone must be on the outside. We will come only if we are needed." He smiled down at his golden-haired friend. "Though Sandy is quite formidable. Let us hope we are not needed at all."

Sandy beamed up at North, his smile as bright as the sun. He gave two thumbs up, agreeing completely, though he looked anything but formidable with his small stature and wild blond hair, dressed neatly in a tan business suit.

Jack came bounding back with a canvas bag rattling with tools. "I have what I need," he announced. "We should go while there's still plenty of daylight."

Sandy nodded and gave a jaunty wave as he started off to the door. Jack wasn't able to make so easy a getaway. North rubbed a hand over his head, and Miss Tooth even drifted closer, begging him to please, please be careful.

Pippa grabbed his face between her hands and told him, "I don't like this. I understand why, but I don't like it. You must come back to me."

He smiled, softly, and pressed his forehead to hers. "I always do, Pip. I'll be back before you know it."

And then he was gone, dashing out the door before it could get any more awkward.

Aster was confused. But, for quite some time now, very little had made sense. The sun fading, snow falling when it had not in decades, shadows attacking… Why should this be any more surprising? He just wished these people – North and Miss Tooth, especially, whom he had known for the last two years – would just tell him what was going on. There was a secret here they were not sharing with him.

He would never really know what it was that compelled him to leap off the counter and run out the door that day.

Jack and Sandy were right outside the shop, and they turned to him as he stumbled out after them.

"I…" He stared at them. Then pulled the keys from his pocket. "How are you getting to the lake?"

They looked at each other guiltily. Sandy shrugged.

"I can take you. I know the roads better than anyone." His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. The thought of going back to the lake was terrifying.

"I can't let you do that," Jack said.

"I have to." Despite the fear, the urge to throw up, Aster stood his ground. "You protect me, I'll protect you. I'll follow you if I have to."

Jack pressed his lips together, narrowed his eyes. And then gave a terse nod. "Okay."

They piled into Aster's truck, with Sandy in the middle, because his shorter legs didn't get in the way of the stick shift, and sped off toward the lake.

* * *

The sun was a gray ball high overhead, it's light muffled as if behind a layer of clouds, though there were none. The protection it offered was little. The forest was just as foreboding now as it was the last time they were here. Aster pulled the truck around onto the lake road, remembering how wicked black claws had scratched over the paint, and torn away one of the mirrors. Already, the shadows were in motion, twisting and rising up to greet them.

Sandy motioned for him to stop.

"What's the plan?" Aster wondered.

Sandy, amid much protesting from Jack, climbed right _over_ Jack to get out of the truck. Alarmed, Aster tried to reached over and stop him, but Jack got in the way and shut the door as soon as the smaller man was outside.

"This _is_ the plan," Jack said. "Be ready to move." There was something nervous hiding behind the confidence in his voice. Aster thought it must be the task at hand, the fight to come. But Jack was stealing glances at _him._

Sandy walked out several paces in front of the truck. He had no weapons, nothing to defend himself. But as the shadows began to sweep in toward him, he glowed.

Aster thought it was his imagination at first. A trick of the light. But there was none. Not enough, anyway, to make the little man sparkle the way he was. And it only intensified, gathering like a like a cloud of dust around his feet. He spread his hands to either side, and ropes of light shot from them. As the shadows bore down on him, he brought the ropes around and lashed out, slashing through them, rending the black to shreds. Particles of gold splashed back on the truck. Aster thought it looked like sand.

Again and again, the shadows rose up and attacked, and again and again they were cut down by Sandy's golden whips. It seemed never ending.

"He can't keep this up forever," Aster said, his hands tight on the wheel. He wanted to help. Somehow.

Jack held a hand up, ready to grab Aster, stop him from leaving the cab if he had to. "Just wait."

The billowing pillow of gold under Sandy's feet shifted, swirled, and suddenly, the small man was launching up, up, up into the air. There was a tremendous howl of rage from the shadows, and they hurtled up after him.

Aster blinked, and cocked his head to the side. There was absolutely no way he just witnessed a man take off into the sky.

Jack shoved him roughly. "Now is the time to _move!_"

Aster shifted into gear, feeling numb and not quite in control of all of his senses, and took off down the lake road. There were still shadows, but not nearly so many as last time. Sandy had successfully leeched away the worst of them, and what remained posed little more threat than tree branches smacking into the windshield. They arrived on the bank of the lake to another surprise.

Water.

Jack jumped out of the truck with the bag of tools and ran to the frozen lake, where his bare feet splashed into what must have been terribly cold water puddled on top of the ice. "It's melting…"

Before Aster could stop him, warn him that the ice might be too thin farther out where the staff was buried, Jack took off running. A few times, he slipped where the water was puddled into slush. Aster, gritting his teeth and hoping against hope that the lake really was frozen all the way through like the stories said it was, went after him.

High above them, the shadows roiled like angry storm clouds. At their center, a golden ball whirled and whipped around, breaking the darkness, only to have it reform and charge back in.

Jack threw down his bag and dropped next to it. He didn't waste a moment, upending the canvas and spilling the tools all over the melting ice. It looked as though he had just grabbed whatever looked sharp and sturdy from North's work area. There were screw drivers and hammers, a small saw, an icepick, even a crowbar. He grabbed a hammer and started slamming it into the ice, sending water and bits of ice everywhere.

Aster settled next to him, shivering as the frigid water soaked into his jeans, and grabbed another of the hammers. Together they chipped away at the ice, working their way to the curved stick below. It was both a blessing and worrisome how easily the ice broke apart, coming away in chunks. And once more, Aster hoped there was nothing below them but more ice.

By the time they reached the wood, he couldn't feel his fingers. Jack threw down his hammer to try and pry the staff up from the crevice they had dug, but it was still stuck fast. Aster used the claw of his hammer at various points to gently work the staff loose.

Jack lurched up, grabbing the crowbar and swinging it right over Aster's head so hard and fast, he could hear the whistle in his ears. There was a yowl, like a demon-cat being thrown by its tail, and black burst in a puff of smoke all around them. Aster ducked down instinctually, then looked up.

The shadows were losing interest in Sandy, breaking away from the turmoil swarming around his golden cloud and dropping down to investigate them. Jack got to his feet, armed with a hammer and a crowbar. "I'll hold them off," he said.

Aster knew he had seconds, and not many. He worked quickly to pry the staff out of the ice while Jack swung at any shadow that came too close. Once it was free, he carefully lifted it up. It felt light, fragile. Breakable.

"I have it, Jack," he said.

Jack turned. The hammer and crowbar fell, and he reached for the staff. The moment his hand closed over the wood, there was a change. In the staff, in him. He was … content. Whole. And the staff … It flashed white, and ice crawled over it from where his hand held it. It didn't look so frail anymore. Not when he spun it once and slammed it through an oncoming shade.

"Sandy!" he yelled up to the golden cloud. "Let's go!"

There was an answering pulse of light.

Jack turned to Aster. "Get to your truck and get back to town. Sandy and I will make sure they don't get you." He smiled, grateful. "Thank you." Wind pushed against them, and Jack jumped. Jumped up into the air and stayed there. His smile tipped to the side, into more of a smirk before the wind carried him to Sandy. Aster could see him swinging his staff into a wide arch, and a blast of something bright and blue flared out from it, and whole swaths of darkness vanished.

And then he ran. As fast as he could over the watery ice, his feet slipping and sloshing, until he reached his truck. Wet and shivering and numb, he fumbled with the door and climbed into the cab. And then he couldn't get the keys out of his pocket, and nearly dropped them trying to get them into the ignition. Even after he managed to get the engine started, his eyes were locked on the roiling black, the flashes of gold and white-blue.

He turned the truck around and fled.

He didn't see Jack and Sandy flee the battle. Once they saw his truck safely away from lake, they cleared a path for escape and shot away from the lake as fast as the wind would take them. The shadows did not follow.

What Jack and Sandy did not see was that Aster never made it back to town.

* * *

His head full of more questions, and still no answers, Aster knew exactly what he was going to do when he got back to the World of Wonders. He was going to make North, and Jack, and Miss Tooth, and everyone else involved in this mess, tell him exactly everything they knew. He was tired of being confused and left in the dark.

He was halfway to Burgess proper when he saw a car off on the side of the road. Out here, where very few people lived and it was rare to come across another vehicle at all, it was rarer to find a car abandoned like this. As he neared it, he realized it wasn't just any car. It was his mother's little red junker.

He pulled over behind the car and got out.

He thought it was abandoned, and all sorts of worse-case scenarios raced through his head. But then, from the back seat, a curly head popped up. A moment later, Susan backed out of the passenger side door.

"Mom…" He slowly approached her, unsure. Worried. Upset. So happy to see her safe and alive. "What are you doing out here? Are you okay?"

"Oh, baby, I'm fine," she said. She smiled. It didn't look natural. She might be tired. Or hungover. "The car ran out of gas."

"Gas." It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. "I've been worried sick. I've been trying to call you!"

"I guess my phone died." She moved closer, reached up to touch his cheek. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to scare you."

He flinched away from her. "It's not okay, Mom. Do you have any idea what I've…" This close, he could see her face. How blank it was. Like a doll. And her eyes. He had inherited her bright, brilliant green eyes. But now they were cold and black. "What's happened to you?"

She tried to reach for him again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He backed away. Or tried to. There was something behind him now. Some_one_. Long fingers closed around one of his arms, and before he could twist away, a hand passed over his eyes.

"Shhh." It was Pitch, whispering in his ear. In his head. "This is all a dream."

He felt his body falling, and then everything went dark.

* * *

**AN: **I hope this one didn't feel too disjointed. I had a really hard time with the first half. No one was cooperating.

**Up next**: So what did happen to Aster's dad?

**3/10/13: **And now with edits.


	16. Chapter 15: Emmit Was a Good Man

**Chapter Fifteen**

Aster woke up in his bed.

He felt heavy. Exhausted. Hot. The clock on his bedside table said it was nine in the morning. He was late for work.

Work.

North.

Jack!

He shoved his blankets away and sat up with a jolt. This wasn't right. His room was clean, spotless. Exactly as he always kept it, before the shadows smashed in the windows and tore everything apart.

The window was whole.

He felt weak, shaky, as he pushed himself out of bed and grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt to put on. Bending over to pull on his shoes made him dizzy, so he left them untied and staggered down the hall.

Susan was sitting on the couch, nursing a bottle of beer and cradling her head. When her son appeared, she jumped up and moved quickly to him. "Aster, you should be in bed." She pressed her hands against him, attempting to prod him back to his room.

He resisted, and swiped her hands away. "Why should I be in bed, Mom?" He leaned in close. Looked her in the eyes.

Her eyes were green. Just as they should be.

"You've been sick. You've had a terrible fever, Aster." When she realized he wasn't going to return to his room, she pulled him toward the couch. "Sit down, at least."

He jerked his arm away from her and took a step back. "No. I … Where have you been?"

Susan stayed where she was, though she was confused. "Been? I've been here, Aster." She spoke slowly, carefully. "With you."

He shook his head. "I was looking for you. I couldn't find you. Pitch… Where's Pitch?" He cast around, his eyes darting to every dark corner.

"Pitch? That man you brought home? He left days ago." She hesitantly reached for him again. "You really should lay down. I'll call the doctor. I'm sure he can get you in today."

"I don't need a doctor!" He backed away from her again, until his back hit the wall. "The shadows… They… They were everywhere. They broke the windows. They … The house…" He sucked in a breath, and another, but it was hard to breathe.

Nothing in the house was out of place. Everything looked fine. All of the furniture was upright and unbroken. The windows were not shattered. There was no sign at all that they ever had been.

"It was a dream," Susan said. "You were dreaming."

"N-no…" Pressure was building in his head. He pressed a hand to his temple. It was hard to think. Hard … hard to remember.

"You need to rest, Aster. You've been very sick."

"Stop saying that," he snapped. He lurched away from the wall. He needed his keys.

"But it's true." She made a grab for him, and followed him into the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"I need air. I need to get out of here." He looked on the counter, on the key hook. He yanked open the junk drawer, and there they were. They didn't belong there. Was she hiding them?

"You can't! You're in no condition…"

"I don't care!" He shoved her away when she tried to block his path. She was smaller than him, and moved easily. Head throbbing, he leapt down the stairs and strode to his truck. He ignored her pleas that he come back, and once he was inside the cab, he could no longer hear her. She stayed at the top of the stairs, watching him.

The drive into Burgess took some effort through the haze and pain. He had hoped it would clear his head, but the longer he drove, the harder it was to piece together the last few days. The incidents on the lake, taking care of the Bennett children, seeing Pitch, the shadows, spending hours trapped in a closet with Jack, all of it felt less and less real. It was fading away, like the sun.

He felt tired, weak. He remembered his mother bending over him, laying cold cloths over his head and petting his hair back, like she had when he was small. He remembered being too hot, and too cold, shivering under too many blankets. He remembered soothing words of comfort, and the smell of medicine and beer. It was all hazy and dreamlike, but it was there…

He entered town, and slowed as he neared the World of Wonders. But he didn't stop. He saw Jack poke his white head out the door and shout something. Pain shot through his head, and his thoughts were clouded. He felt confused, and lost, and angry, and he wasn't entirely sure why. His foot fell heavy on the gas and he sped away.

Two blocks later, he found himself at the park.

A small group of kids were racing and tumbling through the snow. Haphazard snowmen and forts were erected all over the place. Aster made his way to one of the benches and dropped onto it wearily.

The pack of children ran by, shouting and lobbing snowballs at each other. He recognized Jamie among them, but the boy was too busy to notice him. That was fine.

He scanned the park, and spotted Mrs. Bennett farther off, by the play equipment, guiding Sophie up a slide. The little toddler slipped and slid all the way down, and he could hear both of them laughing. It amazed him, and sometimes bothered him, how put together and … normal Mrs. Bennett was. He shouldn't be jealous. Her children needed her.

But it wasn't fair.

* * *

It had been a Wednesday. A lazy, hot summer that had sucked all of the moisture out of Burgess and left nothing but dust behind. North had opened both doors to the shop, front and back, to let in as much air as possible, but it still wasn't enough. Aster had to wipe the sweat from his hand every few strokes so his paintbrush wouldn't slip from his fingers. It wasn't even noon.

Jamie, who was a year younger and blessed with far less patience, had taken to dropping in daily out of pure boredom while his mother shopped or roamed around town. Sometimes, Aster would take a break and haul Jamie down to the park to blow off some energy, but today it was too hot. The boy was curled up on the floor in a patch of shade, halfheartedly playing with a couple of North's toys.

For the fiftieth time, Jamie sighed.

For the fiftieth time, Aster sighed back. "There are other things to do, you know. Where'd your ma run off to, anyway?"

"Fire station. She made cookies for Dad and the guys."

"Ah. You didn't want to go with her?"

"Nah." Jamie rolled onto his back and folded his hands on his stomach. "I think she wants to invite you guys over for dinner. She's going to ask your dad."

"He'll probably say yes."

Jamie smiled. Aster smiled back.

Their families had been close. Closer. Once. Mr. Bennett and Mr. Bunnymund were firefighters, best friends. They were inseparable. They called each other "brother", and they may as well have been. They often bemoaned not having any children close in age to raise together.

"You had your kids too late," Emmit Bunnymund would say.

"You had yours too early," Daniel Bennett would reply.

Their wives were not as close, but Susan and Mrs. Bennett got along well enough.

The firehouse was on the other side of town, but once the sirens got going, they could be heard from anywhere. The town was, after all, only seven blocks long. The residential area gave it a bit more girth, but not much. Jamie sat up on his elbows as soon as the first whine reached them.

Aster set his painting aside and wiped the sweat from his hands and forehead.

"Think they'll come this way?" Jamie got up on his feet and hopped to the door. He gripped the doorjamb and leaned out to peer up Main Street.

Aster came up behind him. "There aren't many ways out of town. _If_ they're headed out of town."

Jamie nodded. But the whine of the sirens grew louder, and soon enough they could see the lights flashing as the first of the engines turned a corner onto the main street. Jamie ran out to the sidewalk and started waving his arms when the trucks were still two blocks away.

Aster followed Jamie out and leaned against the wall. He smiled as the first truck blared its horn, and every man on board waved back to the nine year old boy jumping up and down on the side of the road.

But it was Mr. Bennett in the passenger seat who hung half his body out the window and shouted, "Hey, kiddo! See you soon!"

Mr. Bunnymund was driving the ladder truck trailing behind. He gave a honk and a wave, and Aster and Jamie both waved back. It wasn't uncommon for either or both of the boys to send their dads off when they came speeding by the toy store on their way to fires or traffic accidents or critters or children stuck up in high places.

Once the trucks were out of sight, Aster turned and went back inside. Jamie lingered a while longer, until the wail of the sirens was a distant echo.

* * *

Two hours later, Aster was trying to paint again, though he was sticky and hot and wanted to be anywhere else. Jamie was back on the floor, arms and legs spread wide, staring listlessly up at the ceiling. Even North had given up on carving in the back and was fanning himself by the open door.

Aster's phone went off. He carefully set aside his project and checked the display, then answered. "Mrs. Bennett, hello…" He frowned. She asked the usual question: _Is Jamie there?_ But her voice was off. It trembled. Something was wrong. "Yes, Jamie's still here… Sure, no problem… Okay, see you soon…"

He hung up. He felt an ache in his chest, a heavy fear. He tried to keep it out of his voice. "Hey, James. Your mom is on the way. Be ready to go."

Jamie made a disgruntled kind of sound, but slowly peeled himself up from the floor.

Five minutes later, a car pulled up outside the shop. It wasn't the Bennett's van, but a black sedan Aster saw around the fire station from time to time. It belonged to one of the other firefighters. Mrs. Bennett got out from the passenger side. The driver – Aster thought his name was Randall – got out as well, but didn't move far from the car.

"Mom, what's going on?" Jamie approached cautiously. Even Aster could see tear tracks down Mrs. Bennett's face from his paint table. He stood up and moved closer. North put a hand on her shoulder and murmured something to her. She shook her head and he backed away with a pinched expression.

"Jamie, get in the car with Randy," she said. She pushed him out the door, and he went reluctantly. Randy was right there to guide him the rest of the way, taking away choice to linger away from him. She fixed her gaze on Aster. "You need to come too."

He shook his head and backed away. No. Nonono. He knew something was wrong. Something had happened. He knew it when she called. But not to him. Not his…

"Aster, please." She reached for him, but he scuttled back again. "Just get in the car. I'll explain on the way."

"No." He didn't want an explanation. He just wanted everything to be okay. "I don't want to go with you."

"Your mother is already … she's on her way to the hospital…"

His vision blurred and it was hard to breathe. A choked whine escaped and he nearly doubled over. North caught him, and he found himself pushed backward into a chair. He always knew there was a possibility. What his father did, it was dangerous work. But fathers … they were supposed to be invincible. Indestructible. Immortal.

Suddenly, Randy was pulling a chair over in front of him, and telling Mrs. Bennett to sit in the car with Jamie. He sat down and leaned forward, so he took up all of Aster's personal space. "I'm not going to force you to go anywhere," he said. "But your mom is going to need you."

Aster ground his hands against his eyes, and they came back slick with tears. More fell. "Is he going to be okay?"

Randy didn't answer for a very long time, and Aster's heart plummeted.

"Some kids set fire to the abandoned farmhouse out on 506. You know the one?" Randy started. Aster nodded mutely. "One of them got trapped on the second floor. Your dad and Danny went in to get him out. They got him, and they made it back down to the ground floor. And then … it just collapsed. All of it. We couldn't get to them. Not right away."

Aster started shaking his head again, but Randy went on. "He had the kid under him. Hell, he had most of Danny under him. He might have saved them."

But not himself. When Randy trailed off and Aster looked up to see him crying, he knew what the silence meant.

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and North said, "I will bring him to the hospital."

As he was leaving, Randy paused at the door to say, "Emmit … Emmit was a good man."

But Aster already knew that.

* * *

Emmit A. Bunnymund was pronounced dead on the scene when he and Daniel Bennett were pulled from the burning building with the child they had gone in to save.

Daniel Bennett died en route to the hospital.

As far as Aster knew, the boy had survived, but was never seen around Burgess again.

Mr. Bunnymund and Mr. Bennett were buried the same day. Their graves can be seen from each other.

When the service ended, Mrs. Bennett hiked Sophie up on her hip, took Jamie's hand, and walked away with her head up. Aster thought she looked strong, and amazing, and secretly, he emulated her ever since.

When the service ended, Mrs. Bunnymund trashed the house and drank herself into a stupor. She bounced from job to job, often fired for not showing up or showing up hungover or drunk. The money Aster had been saving for college went to paying off bills, and it has been that way ever since.

There was a sound to his left, and Aster's thoughts scattered. He turned his head to see Jack shifting from foot to foot – no shoes, in the snow.

He remembered a staff buried under ice. He remembered Jack leaping into the air, and flying up. He remembered flashes of white light that broke the shadows.

It wasn't real. It couldn't have happened. People don't fly. Shadows don't attack.

His head throbbed and he looked away, scrunching his eyes shut and pushing a hand through his hair and holding it there. "What do you want?"

"Are you okay?" Jack was hovering like he wanted to move closer, or reach out, but wasn't sure if he should.

Aster cracked his eyes open. The snow over the park suddenly cut into his vision, too bright. "I'm fine."

"Oh." Jack's feet were crunching up the snow with all his shifting. The sound was grating. "It's just, when you didn't come back to the shop, we were afraid something happened. I left a thousand messages on your phone. It's been two days…"

"I've been sick." Aster stood up abruptly and shoved his hand in his pocket, fishing for the keys to his truck.

"Sick? Sick how?" Jack followed hot on his heels as he headed for the truck. "Come back to the shop with me. North and Miss Tooth will want to see you. They've been going crazy."

"I have to go."

"Go where?"

"Home."

Jack darted around him, blocked his path. Even spread his arms wide as a barrier. "No. Aster, please don't."

Anger boiled up, red hot and painful. He grabbed Jack by the collar of his sweater and twisted, dragging the smaller teenager close. He didn't know what the other saw in his expression, but Jack looked afraid. More than that. Terrified.

"Leave me alone," Aster growled. He shoved Jack to the side and continued on to his truck.

* * *

**AN**: So. I probably didn't answer many questions with this one. But do I ever?

**Up Next**: Jack tries to talk to Aster.


	17. Chapter 16: Disappear

**Chapter Sixteen**

Jack had a death wish. Whatever it was that scared him before obviously didn't have a lasting impact. As Aster stomped through the snow toward his truck, the pale teen scrambled after him. "Aster, wait! Please just stop and talk to me!"

"We have nothing to talk about," Aster shouted over his shoulder.

"Yes we do!" Jack did something that was most likely very stupid, and grabbed Aster's arm to yank him into stopping. The fist that came for his face was barely dodged.

Aster was angry. Unreasonably angry. Why he felt so much resentment boiling in his gut, and why he felt so empty, and why everything he saw made it worse, he didn't know. He didn't care. His head was screaming, and he just wanted to be alone. And this … this kid with the too-bright hair and the million smiles wouldn't go away.

He hated Jack.

That thought flashed forward, before every other memory trying to surface. He hated Jack the moment they met. It gave his next swing of the fist more momentum. He caught Jack in the chest. He watched Jack stumble back, gasping.

"Stay. Away." He reached his truck without any more grabbing or pleading. The engine roared to life, and he pumped the gas a few times, so the sound drown out his thoughts, the thin thread of guilt trying to worm though the dark hate.

The passenger side door opened. Jack slipped in and closed the door.

"Get out." Aster flexed his hands over the steering wheel. "I was going easy on you before, but I will not hold back if you keep pissing me off like this."

Jack turned so he was facing Aster, though he looked braced to run away. He was tense all over. "I'm not leaving. I don't care what you do, but I'm not … I'm not giving up on you. I protect you, you protect me. Remember?"

For a second, Aster's hands relaxed on the wheel. It was like smelling a scent walking through a store, and not knowing why it was familiar. Hearing a sound, and searching for the source because it struck a chord, and you just can't place why. Hearing a question, and knowing you know the answer, but it just won't come.

But that was as far as it got. A vague feeling of something missing, something lost.

"This is your last warning," Aster said. "Leave, before I do something we both regret."

The temperature dropped, suddenly. Drastically. Jack's breath puffed out white. "No." He shrank back a little when Aster turned a glare on him. "Your eyes are black. Did you know that?"

Aster let go of the wheel. His knuckles cracked as he balled his hands into fists.

Jack's gaze darted down to those fists, then back up. "Aster, please. After everything we've been through…"

Confusion stopped Aster from striking. "What everything? I barely know you. I don't _want_ to know you."

Tears welled up in Jack's eyes. "You don't remember? You have to!" He slapped a hand against the dashboard. Fronds of ice swirled out from his palm, stretching over the plastic and curling up the windshield. "Please remember. Please."

Aster watched the frost coat the inside of his truck. The anger was stamped down by disbelief. It tried to flare again when looked at Jack. "What are you?"

"I'm…" Jack struggled with the words, his mouth working but nothing coming out. But then his blue eyes lit up, though they were still watery with unshed tears. His lips wavered around a tiny, tentative smile. "I'm that patch of light on your wall. It's not just a light. You just … you just have to believe. Believe in me. Believe that I can help you."

There was a pause, pregnant and painful. He could see the hope written all over Jack's face, coupled with fear.

He looked away.

"It's just a wall, Jack. It's sunlight on a wall. No amount of belief will ever change that." He felt a cold, heavy, dark weight settle over his heart.

He could hear the smile drop, the desperation, the held back tears falling. "That's not true. Please…"

"I don't believe." He shut his eyes.

"Don't…"

"I don't believe in you."

Silence.

Aster opened his eyes, looked to where Jack had been sitting, just inches away from him. No one was there. The curls of ice were quickly melting away. He hadn't heard Jack leave.

He wondered if Jack was ever there at all.

Outside, the shadows were laughing, but he didn't notice.

* * *

He went home. His mother was right. He was sick. He needed more rest. He could barely steer the truck through the pain in his head. It stabbed through his temples, and pulsed behind his eyes.

Susan asked if he were alright when he staggered into the house. He waved her off and went straight to his room. He shut and locked his door and collapsed on his bed.

He slept.

* * *

His dreams were dark. Dark shadows against dark walls, nothing but black under his feet. He tried to call out, to scream, but the darkness swallowed up his voice.

He felt hands clamp around his arms, impossibly strong. They held fast no matter how he struggled. Warm breath tickled his ear, and a voice whispered softly to him.

"It's just a dream. It was always a dream."

"…Pitch?" He ceased his struggling, froze.

"Shh…"

Bone thin fingers lifted to card through his hair. It sent chills down his spine. It made him want to run. It was comforting.

"Tell me what's happening to me," Aster asked. Pleaded.

There was a chuckle, low and dangerous. "I'm going to destroy you."

Light, golden and bright, flooded the dark, blinded him. Freed him. Pitch vanished, and he fell.

* * *

Aster woke up with a jolt. His room was glowing with a golden yellow light. It felt like ages since the sun shined so brightly. It shimmered, like sand on the beach.

It was familiar somehow. It tugged at him like Jack's words had before. On the tip of his tongue, he knew this light.

He sat up blearily. According to his clock, he had been sleeping for several hours. It must be nearing sunset. The light poured in through his window, painting a rectangle across the floor and up one wall.

Like a doorway.

"_You just have to believe_," Jack had said.

And not just Jack. His father had told him the same thing, for years and years. But it was just a game. A fantasy. A story now abandoned in a box of his father's old things.

He had wanted, so badly, for it to be real. There was a time when he really did believe, when it really did seem possible. But he was so afraid to be wrong. He never tried.

He stood up and approached the light, standing just to the side so his shadow would not block out any part of it.

Just believe.

He shut his eyes and drew a breath, stretched his hand out. Just before his flesh met the wall, he curled his fingers. He was still afraid.

Believe. Believe.

Another breath. Hesitantly, he uncurled his fingers and leaned forward, just enough.

The smooth texture of the wood paneling sent a shock through him, so he gasped. He opened his eyes to see his fingers pressed firmly against the wall, within the block of light.

He wavered. And then he slammed his fist so hard against the wall it cracked. He laughed as the tears spilled out. Because he felt so stupid. And so lost. And so scared. And so heartbroken.

And when he couldn't laugh anymore, he cried.

* * *

**AN:** This one is rather short. Sorry about that.

**Up Next: **Aster discovers his hidden abilities!


	18. Chapter 17: The Warren

**Chapter Seventeen**

Aster unlocked his door when his mother's pounding on it became too much, but he refused to speak to her. She left a bowl of soup on his bedside table, and it went cold long before he noticed it. He didn't want it anyway.

He lay down on his bed, tried to close his eyes and sleep. But sleep would not come, and his eyes refused to stay shut. He found himself instead staring at the wall, where the patch of light faded away and night's shadows slowly crept in.

The first time his phone rang, he took it out of his pocket to check the display. It was North. He ignored it.

The second time, it was Miss Tooth. The third time as well. Both ignored. She left messages both times. He didn't check them.

Even Mrs. Bennett called, once. He almost answered, but he didn't want her to hear his voice. He felt raw and broken, and he didn't want her to know that. She left a message.

He hesitated, then called up his voicemail.

First message. It was Jack. "_Aster, where are you? Sandy and I made it back to the shop. You're not here! You were supposed to come back here!"_

And the second was Jack. "_Pick up, Aster. I'm not kidding. You should be here by now."_

Third. "_Aster… Don't make me go after you, okay? Where did you go? It's getting dark…"_

Fourth. "_Listen, if this about what happened out there… I can… I can explain everything. You've got a lot of questions, right? I'll tell you everything you want to know. … Please?"_

The fifth was a moment of silence, and a click.

Sixth. "_Hello. Aster? It's Rashmi. Dr. Haroom?"_ Who… Was that Miss Tooth's real name? Huh. "_Sweetheart, are you okay? We saw your truck and… We just want to know that you're okay. Jack hasn't come back. Is he still with you?"_

Seventh. "_Aster, it's Dr. Haroom again. Listen, North is going a little crazy here. We're both very worried about you. The road to your home is impassible. We need to know if you're safe. Oh, and, if Jack is with you, can you please tell him to call us."_

Jack was missing again. He tried not to care, but a part of him felt it was his fault. He'd made Jack disappear. Maybe literally.

"_Oh, um. Hello. Aster. This is Mrs. Bennett. I, um._ _I saw you at the park today. I went by the store to see you, but they said you hadn't come in. I guess, I've been thinking these last few days. About you, and the kids, and everything. Maybe I should tell you in person, but I wanted to apologize, I guess, for letting everything fall apart since Danny died. Your mom and I were never very close, but I guess I was just so disappointed in how she reacted to what happened … I pushed her – and you – away. And that wasn't fair. To be honest, there are days when I want nothing more than to throw myself away. But Jamie and Sophie are so small…" _

She laughed, and sniffled, and he thought she might be crying. "_I'm rambling. I'm sorry. What I wanted to say was, I've seen how hard you work. You're an amazing kid, and your mother should be very proud of you. Your father would be." _There was a pause, then, "_It may not mean much, but I'm proud of you. And I want to help. You, and your mom. It's long overdue." _

"You don't have to," he said.

The message went on. "_I didn't mean to call so late. I wanted to wait until Sophie was in bed. I'll call back tomorrow? Good-night, Aster."_

He let the options play out, and then repeat, before he pressed the number that would save the message, then he shut off his phone and held it loosely in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Was he asleep? The shadows moved around him, slithering like snakes, skittering like spiders. Yellow eyes stared down at him, and he stared back. Fear petrified his limbs, choked his voice. Spindly fingers traced a path over his arm, up his throat, and pointed teeth grinned.

* * *

There was a crash from elsewhere in the house. He blinked blearily at his closed door and waited in the silence that followed. When nothing happened – no sound, no movement, no light – he sighed. His eyes drifted shut again.

* * *

The yellow eyes were still there. The pointed smile. The thin hands. The dark things swarming in all the spaces in between. Pitch's face was visible now, gray and haggard. There was a cut across his cheek, thin and dripping black blood.

Pitch wanted to destroy him.

"Why?" He found his voice, under the terror clawing its way through his gut. It trembled. "Why me?"

"You were never meant to exist." The answer was soft. A cold hand crept through his hair. "You are a mistake that needs correcting."

"Then why don't you?" He swallowed hard, because he knew what he was saying. He could be prompting his own immediate demise. "You've had plenty of chances."

The smile twisted to a snarl, and the yellow eyes narrowed. "I would have torn you to pieces long ago, if I could. It's not that easy." The expression softened. "My dear boy, do you not know what you are?"

* * *

He snapped awake. His mother's hand was on his shoulder. It was bandaged, and there was a bruise across her cheek. He could see it clearly in the dim light, and wondered how long he had been asleep that it was now daylight.

"Mom…" He started to push himself up. She pressed on his shoulder, and he collapsed back onto the mattress.

She sat beside him, and he could see she was holding his and his father's book – The Warren – on her lap. She traced a finger lightly over the painting on the cover. "'Man is made by his belief. As he believes, so he is.' Your father liked to say that. I can't remember where he got it from. Probably the internet." She smiled wistfully. "He used to tell the best stories. Both of you did."

She set the book on the bed, within his reach, and bent to look him in the eyes. "You're looking better," she said. She kissed his cheek before rising and leaving, shutting the door behind her.

Aster pulled the book closer and rested his hand over the texture of the painted cover. Each letter was raised, and he fanned his fingers over the title, trying to feel it all at once.

"Anything is possible," his father would say. "You just have to believe."

He had held on to that throughout his childhood. Before reality edged it and stole away the promise of greater things. Magic and wonder were the first to go. Then more material things – college and a better home and getting out of debt before he was legally an adult – vanished.

He opened the book to the first page. He remembered how it felt. The innocent longing and wonder. The dream of something strange and other and magical. The belief so strong and overwhelming, it ached deep down and even scared him sometimes. He remembered how the unknowable seemed possible.

He remembered Jack huddled next him in the closet, curious about this world Aster and his father had created. The childish enthusiasm, the demands to hear the story again, the want to know every detail. And Aster hadn't minded.

And Aster realized, then, that all of that was what he hated most about Jack. And what he most wanted to protect. Jack was everything he had given up when his father had died. Jack was every smile he had lost.

Light crept across the floor. He watched it as it began a slow trek up the wall.

His body ached with disuse as he sat up, cradling the book with one arm. He tucked his phone in his back pocket as he stood.

He felt a pull of doubt on his heart, and in the back of his mind yellow eyes gleamed. He conjured up thoughts of his mother, his father, Jack, North, Mrs. Bennett and the children, even Miss Tooth. He hugged the book close and recalled the long days of sitting at the dining table with his father, creating their world. He let the memories fill his mind and heart and shut his eyes as the patch of light reached its full height.

He reached forward with a shaking hand. "I believe," he whispered. "I believe."

His hand failed to make contact with anything. He dared not open his eyes and took a small step forward. Still, nothing.

Feeling foolish – of course he would stand too far from the wall, or reach the wrong direction – he slowly opened his eyes.

He was not prepared to see a tunnel extending out past the stretch of his fingers. The paneling of his wall melted away into carved rock and dirt, a curved hole shooting off some distance before curving away. Moss with pink flowers crawled up the walls, and a column stood in the center, decorated from base to ceiling in graceful runes. There was light up ahead, bright and golden.

His breath left him. Flipping through the book, he found a drawing his father had done of this exact tunnel.

His feet moved of their own accord. He stepped into the tunnel. Into the Warren.

The opening behind him sealed shut with a whisper. He glanced back, then started forward, his pace quickening toward the light. It was warm, almost humid, but pleasant. He pressed a hand over the column as he passed it, and found it to be one solid white stone, cool to the touch.

As he rounded the bend, the tunnel opened up to a valley. His valley. Bright and green and beautiful. Hills and trees and rivers of every color. Flowers of every kind, and kinds that didn't even exist, sprang to life the moment his feet touched the grass. All of it – every inch – was familiar. Every sketch and crayon drawing, every dream he ever had, every conversation he and his father shared – it was all here.

He laughed and cried, both, at the same time. He wished his father were here to see this.

Maybe he was.

He wandered through the Warren, breathing in the heavy scent of flowers, feeling the blessedly warm air, relishing in the glowing light, the source of which he could not locate. The cavern stretched up and up and up, so high he could not see the end of it, and the light came from there, like a small sun fixed high overhead. He ran his hands through a neon green stream and found it cold, and the color lingered on his skin for hours after.

He found more caves scattered throughout, most of them long tunnels leading off into darkness, and he didn't want to stray too far from the light to see where they led. Not yet.

There was one, though, that welcomed him. It was carved into a small hill near the center of the Warren, with a door set in the entrance, and windows spaced all around. A tree grew from the top of the hill, but that did not seem the block out any of the light that filtered in.

The door opened easily. Inside, he found a cozy, but cluttered, room. There was a desk against one wall, and a small bed against the other. Shelves of every size took up everything else, some stacked on top of each other. There was a television – a television! – balanced atop one shelf. Everywhere, there were folders and books and notebooks and scrolls and drawings… He drew a breath. His father's drawings.

He moved slowly around the room, skimming over covers. Some of the writing looked foreign. Chinese, French, Spanish. Some of it looked alien, like nothing he had ever seen before. Of the titles he could read, he found, _The Beautiful Egg._ And _Mastering Timetravel._ And _Alternate Universes and You. _And _Your True Self: Shapeshifting in the Modern Age._

He pulled the last from the shelf and stared dumbly at the cover, where the author's name was presented in raised lettering.

E. A. Bunnymund.

"Dad?" He traced the name reverently.

He pulled more books from the shelf, and found ten that had been authored by E. Bunnymund. Two were Sanderson Mansnoozie's work – _Guardians_ and _Nightmare Men_.

It had been here all along. The Warren was never just a story. It had always been here. He placed the books on the desk, confused and sad. Why had it been kept a secret from him?

"I see congratulations are in order."

He jolted and nearly threw one of the books at the shadow now blocking the door. "You! Damn it, why do you sneak up on people?"

The Widow – Pippa – lifted a shoulder. "I don't mean to. I'm just light on my feet."

"How did you get down here?"

"There are many ways into the Warren. Most are lost, or barred, or secret. There is but one in Burgess, and only I know of it."

"How…?"

"We don't have time." She moved away from the door. "Jack needs you."

* * *

**AN: **So, I'm thinking, once this whole thing is done written, I might put up some kind of appendix or official author's note, and a timeline of events (which is already written, but I'm not going to stick it in the middle of the story). If anyone has any questions or comments they want addressed, drop me a line!

**Up Next: **Some questions will most definitely be answered next chapter!


	19. Chapter 18: Are We Having a Moment?

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Jack?" Jack, who, if the messages on his phone were to be believed, had been missing for several hours now. Who vanished from his truck when Aster said he no longer believed in him. "You know where he is?"

Pippa nodded. "I do. He was taken." She said it so matter-of-factly, he wasn't sure he heard her right.

"Taken… _What_?"

She was already walking away from him, much faster than he would have expected, with her cane snapping ahead every two steps. He hurried to catch up to her.

"What do you mean, taken?"

"Just what it sounds like." He didn't have to ask by whom. He knew.

She seemed to know where she was going. Without any hesitation, she picked one of the many tunnels branching out of the valley to enter, never mind the darkness that began to settle around them a few yards in.

"You… You know where we're going." It started as a question, but ended as a statement when he realized that, yes. Yes, she did know where she was going.

"I've been here before. I helped maintain this place."

He was afraid the dark would become too much, too thick in the tunnel, and they would not be able to see. And he had learned to fear the things that hid in the dark. But it never really did. No matter how deep they traveled into the tunnel, there was always some light, faint, upon the walls. Still, he kept close to Pippa.

"I didn't know it existed," he said. "I never knew it was real."

"I know," she said. "You weren't ready for the truth."

"I'm ready now?" He didn't feel ready for anything. Every step he took just left him with more questions.

"You're here, aren't you?"

The tunnel ended in a small chamber. There was earth all around them. It smelled damp. Over their heads came the sound of something cracking, sliding, shifting. "What is that?" he asked nervously.

"We are under the lake." Pippa pointed her cane up to the dirt overhead. "There is a barrier of earth between us and the ice. If the lake were not frozen, I think it would have eroded long ago, and this tunnel would be flooded."

The lake was where Pitch had chosen to tuck himself away.

There was a particularly loud snap overhead that made Aster jump and duck his head.

"The ice is melting," Pippa explained.

Aster tilted his head up, though all he could see was dirt. "Jack is up there?" She confirmed it. "And how does being here help?"

"I can only use the tunnels that already exist. You can make your own."

Make his own. Like before? But there was no light here…

Did he need the light?

He couldn't reach the ceiling of the cave; it was several feet too high. He took a step toward a wall, then stopped. Where would such a tunnel come out? The lake was mostly an expanse of flat ice surrounded by trees. Trees steeped in Pitch's monstrous shadows.

He crouched and pressed a hand to the ground, looked up. How was this going to work?

He closed his eyes, and told the ground to move.

And when he looked, he saw that it had. A small hole, just big enough for one teenaged boy to jump through, had opened up for him, dropping away from his hand, and opening up to an upside-down world on the other side. Gray sky, black trees twisting up along the banks of an iced over lake. It made his head spin.

Now there was another problem. "Pitch has Jack. What am I supposed to do about that? I'm just…" He spread his hands, as if to say the whole of him really wasn't much. He wasn't like Jack or Sandy. "Why aren't the others helping?"

"They don't know." Pippa unbuttoned her coat, dug around inside the folds. "You placed the curse. You are the only one who can break the spell."

"Spell… When he… disappeared? He really did disappear?"

She nodded. "After a fashion." Something long and narrow and wrapped in a bath towel fell out of her coat and thudded on the ground beside him. She huffed. "I meant to hand it to you with a little more ceremony, but there you go. That will help you."

He pushed the towel aside, revealing a long curved blade. "A sword," he breathed. He didn't know how to use a sword, but it was better than nothing.

"I borrowed it from North. He doesn't know I borrowed it, so take care to bring it back."

He lifted the blade. It wasn't too heavy, though it made him more aware of what he was about to do. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"True heroes never do."

He was too nervous to laugh at that. Him, a hero? Not bloody likely. Drawing a breath, he hung his feet over the edge of the hole and pushed himself in.

It was horrible and disorienting, but at the same time, it felt right. Like a part of him. He could get used to it. He braced himself to land on his head, or to come out the other side feet first. But some kind of magic – he had no other way to describe it – flipped him, and he popped out the other end, head first.

Literally. Popped out. Like bread from a toaster. It probably looked hilarious.

The hole snapped shut under his feet, saving him from falling right back in, and little blue flower sprang up from the ice.

He wasn't alone.

Pitch was barely fifteen feet away, and staring at him like … well, like he'd just popped up out of the ground. Shadows were boiling up around him, thrashing and worming around his feet and slinking up his stick-thin body. His comically startled face morphed into a sneer. "And to what do I owe the honor?" He pulled up out of a crouch, his clawed fingers retracting.

"I've come for Jack." He raised the sword with both hands. He didn't feel very menacing, but he tried.

Pitch draw back, his arms crossing. "Oh?" His yellow eyes shifted to the side.

Against his better judgment, Aster looked. Jack's staff lay in two pieces. But, "Where is he?"

Pitch's lips twitched. He looked at the broken staff again, and then he laughed. And laughed and laughed. "You can't have him."

Aster shifted his grip on the sword, rattled, scared. He tightened his jaw, dug his feet in. "I'm not leaving without him."

"No, no. I mean, you _can't_ have him." Pitch's chuckles died away, but a smug smile remained. "You gave up on him. You abandoned him. You don't believe in him. The poor thing was so torn apart, it was no trouble at all to just…" Pitch swept a hand through the air and made a fist. "…snatch him right up." He smirked at the pieces of the staff again.

"I was wrong. I was confused." He didn't know why he was wasting time telling Pitch, but as long as they were talking and not trading blows, he would keep at it. Besides, something in him told him this was something that needed to be said. He felt stronger with every word. "You! You did something to me! You've made me forget."

"I've made a correction. I simply hid away the things that were never meant to happen in the first place."

"Because I'm not supposed to exist?"

Pitch nodded, advanced without really moving. He loomed, grew larger. His eyes flicked to the staff again.

Aster's foot slipped back an inch, and he fought his instinct to retreat. Pitch was too proud, too smug.

Because it wasn't the staff he was looking at.

"Jack, it's time to go," Aster said. He took a side-step to broken pieces of wood. He watched Pitch carefully, watched his smirk twist into a snarl. "I'm sorry I hurt you. But I'm figuring things out." He knelt slowly and gathered the staff in one hand, with the sword pointed shakily toward the shadows and Pitch with the other. "I believe. I believe in you."

A moment of silence, and then Pitch began to chuckle softly.

Aster felt desperation well up inside him. "C'mon. You don't need me to clap for you, do you? My hands are full…"

A burst of slow flakes to the right, and there was Jack, laying on the ice, breathing hard and looking like hell. He lifted a hand. "Oh, hey." He was grinning like he wasn't covered in blood in bruises, and for once, Aster didn't hate it.

Pitch screamed, and the shadows howled with him, rising up like a cresting wave, readying to swallow them whole. It was not a human sound. It was not a sound heard on Earth. It struck down into his very soul and tore through his brain and heart. He had a few choices, and only a split second to make one.

Stand still and let the avalanche of darkness take them.

Run away.

Or unlock his knees – because he did freeze – and throw himself over Jack, who had yet to move. And he realized in that half second that Jack couldn't move, or he would have.

Jack, who was looking right up at Pitch and the shadows, said, "Um!"

Aster twisted up look up, to see darkness rushing down to meet them, to see Pitch's teeth, sharp and flashing, descending. He may have yelled, "Shit!" But it was hard to hear himself over the wailing and screaming. He slammed his hand against the ice.

And they fell through.

* * *

They didn't pop out like toast from a toaster on the other end. Maybe if the toast was wadded up in a ball. Aster was still on top of Jack, and they landed with a huff and a tangle of limbs. And Jack erupted in giggles that wouldn't stop, even though they were peppered with "ow, ouch, owowow".

Pippa helped Aster disentangle himself, and took back North's sword – "No blood?" She seemed a bit disappointed by that. She also carefully tucked away the pieces of staff.

Jack chirped, "Hi, Pip," casually from the ground. She smiled fondly down at him, as he weren't battered to pieces, and this were something that happened regularly.

Aster stayed on his knees, hovering over Jack, not quite sure what to do, or what to say. He couldn't tell where the worst of the injuries were through the torn clothes and splotches of fresh and dried blood. "God. Oh, god. I am so sorry," he started.

"It's okay." Jack shifted his shoulders, bent a knee, grimaced, and lowered it back down. He smiled up at Aster. "Really, it's okay. I'll be okay. I'm just glad you're back. Wait!" He tried to sit up, but his arms didn't seem to cooperate. "Get down here! Let me see your eyes."

Aster frowned, but leaned in close, so they were eye-to-eye. Jack stared up at him, entirely too serious, and for far too long, before smiling brightly. "Everything's fine," he announced.

"It's not fine," Aster protested, backing away. "You're a mess." And that was putting it lightly. "You need a hospital. I'll call North. His truck is bigger. He's got that extra seat in the back. Pippa, you… you can show him how to get down here, can't you?"

Jack managed to get a hand on his arm. Then it flopped onto his leg. "Hey. Stop. We're not calling anyone. I just need some rest." He laughed when Aster gave him a look that was one part incredulous, and two parts pissed off. "I thought you would have figured out by now I'm not human? What do you suppose a hospital will do when _they_ figure it out too?"

"And with all the strange things going on?" Pippa added.

Aster sat back with a sigh. He still didn't like it.

"I heal fast," Jack said. His arm made some kind of … floppy petting motion against Aster's leg. Oh. He was trying to comfort. "Though, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would like to heal fast somewhere else. On the ground in a dark cave? Not very hospitable."

Aster snorted, and offered up half a smile. "I saved your ass. You'll be grateful for whatever I give you. But, there was a bed back in that room. Can you walk at all?"

"Umm…" Jack shut his eyes in thought, and his fingers twitched a bit. He opened his eyes. "Nope." The P popped too jubilantly for a guy this beat up.

Aster scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Okay. Fine. I guess I can, um." This was embarrassing.

Jack stared up at him. "Dude, it's not like we're getting married. We're friends." There was something guarded in his tone, a little hopeful, a little scared.

Aster nodded. "Right. We're friends."

Jack relaxed, smiled, and reached a hand up. "I really want off this floor, so any day now."

Carefully, Aster pulled Jack up until he was cradled in his arms, wincing every time the other made a sound of discomfort or hitched his breath. As he moved up to his feet, he discovered, "You don't weigh anything."

"Light as a snowflake," Jack muttered into his neck. His breath was cold.

"…Seriously."

There was a light chuckle, and more cold breath. "How else could the wind carry me?"

Pippa led the way out of the tunnel, and back to the valley, where the bright yellow light and the lush vegetation were a welcome sight. His heart ached to think of any part of it destroyed or dampened by the darkness above.

"Pitch… Does he know how to get in here?" Aster asked quietly. Jack shifted so he could look at his sister limping ahead.

"He knows of the Warren, and the tunnels," Pippa said. "He cannot enter. Emmit made sure this place would be a final haven, a place where none of Pitch's shadows could survive. We are safe here." She stopped to turn and look back at him. "I suspect it was your entering the Warren that drove off the last of his influence over you."

"His influence…"

"Not quite possession." Pippa started forward again. "He gets inside your head, your heart. He manipulates your thoughts, your dreams, even your memories."

"Black eyes," Jack offered, and Aster felt a tremor run through the body in his arms.

"My mom had black eyes." He gasped. "I can bring her here! He won't be able to reach her, or… or get inside her head. Right?"

"It would break his hold on her, yes."

They arrived at the room in the hill – what Aster was beginning to think of as a study. Pippa held open the door, and Aster shuffled through and maneuvered around the clutter to get Jack to the bed. He settled the smaller teen on the bed and fussed over the blankets and pillows because he didn't know what else to do.

"I don't have any bandages," he said.

"They wouldn't do much good," Jack replied. "I mean it, Aster. Stop worrying. I'll be fine. I just need a bit of rest."

"A bath wouldn't hurt," Pippa added from the door. "But that will have to wait."

"Right." Aster clapped his hands to his sides. "I need to get back home, get my mom. You guys will be fine without me for a bit, right?"

Jack traded a concerned look with Pippa. "Pitch may go there first," the Widow said gently. "He may expect you to return home. He could be there already, Aster, waiting for you."

"Then I _have_ to go. My mom…"

"Hey." Jack reached up to tug at his sleeve. "When I'm all better, we'll go in and get her together, guns blazing. He won't do anything to her as long as he can use her against you."

Aster didn't like it, but he let Jack tug him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Pippa tapped her cane against the door. "Now that that is settled, I'm going to find you some clean clothes, and some food. I'll let the others know that you both are safe. Aster, take care of him until I get back."

The door swung shut with a quiet click, and Pippa was gone.

Aster clasped his hands between his knees and looked around the room. Jack shifted around and stared up at the ceiling and made huffing sounds that got progressively louder.

"I got all of your messages," Aster finally said, breaking the silence.

"Oh. Good. I, um… You can delete those. All of them." He sounded embarrassed, and when Aster looked over his shoulder, there was a bit of color on his cheeks. His messages _had_ become increasingly desperate.

"Eh. Maybe," Aster shrugged. "You said you would explain things. Actually, you said you would tell me everything."

"Did I? Hm. I don't recall…"

"I can play it back for you."

"No! No. I remember now. Tell you everything. Got it." He pushed his pillow around under his head, propping himself up a bit more. "What part of 'everything' did you want to know?"

"Your sister told me there was a boy who drown in the lake. She said his spirit kept it frozen." He looked down on Jack questioningly.

Jack sucked on his lower lip. "Sort of true. I didn't drown, exactly. I became what I am _before_ I fell through the ice. Or, I was in the process of becoming…" Aster looked completely lost. "Okay. So, some… I don't know, eighty-something years ago, I went ice skating with my baby sister."

"Baby sister."

"Baby sister. The ice was thin, but we didn't know that. Obviously."

"Obviously."

"The ice cracked. I managed to get Pip off the thin ice by throwing her toward the bank, but in the process, I stumbled onto the weaker ice." He shrugged. "But see, something happened. When I saved Pip, it was decided that I was worthy of a gift." He opened his palm and a few snowflakes swirled up.

"You're a snowblower."

"The best damn snowblower ever." Jack's smile slipped. "But before I knew any of that, the ice broke, and I fell in. What we decided, years later, was that my powers, which were new and uncontrolled, tried to preserve me in the water. By freezing the entire lake."

"You've been frozen for eighty years?"

"No. I was frozen the first time for twelve."

"The first time?"

"I wake when I'm called. And when I'm no longer needed, I'm sent back to the lake." Jack was making little flurries between his hands, but his eyes were distant, and his voice had grown weak.

"Are you okay with that?" Aster shifted around so he could look at Jack without having to twist his neck.

Jack lifted a shoulder. "I guess I have to be." He dropped his hands, and the snow fluttered around and settled on top of him.

Aster pinched a few flakes between his fingers and felt them melt away. "So you're here now because of Pitch."

Jack breathed out a laugh, and gave Aster one of his crooked grins. "No. I'm here now because of you."

Aster felt kind of stupid just staring, and Jack's laughing harder didn't help.

"I was sent to protect you, from Pitch. That backfired, by the way, when you picked the asshole up off the side of the road. I had just got done knocking him around for messing with my lake."

Aster was still staring dumbly, but he croaked out, "_You're_ the reason he was banged up?"

"Yeah. I had to follow you guys on foot. _That_ was fun." The sarcasm was heavy.

Aster's brows drew together. "The next day, there was snow, everywhere…"

"I sent him packing." Aster snorted, and Jack scowled up at him. "I can't do as much without my staff, but he wasn't so strong in the beginning."

"I don't understand why anyone – you – couldn't just _tell_ me." He thought he would feel more anger, but he just felt tired.

"You weren't ready."

"That's what your sister said."

"North wanted to tell you. That fight we had in the shop? It was about you. But I knew if we told you then, we would lose you." Jack sighed, and tried to run a hand through his hair, but it was too matted. He left his hand on the pillow. "Maybe I should have told you sooner anyway, or before we went to get my staff with Sandy, at least. I just … I didn't want to mess things up. I was too careful. Not careful enough? I don't know. I didn't want to risk scaring you away. You… Your… Emmit and I never really got along. I didn't want to make the same mistakes."

"You knew my dad?"

Jack's eyes snapped to Aster's face. He swallowed, and nodded. "Y-yeah. I knew him. He was one of us." He smiled weakly. "Did you know, when I met North, he was barely older than myself?"

"Are you the only who doesn't age?"

"Nah. I age. Just not when I'm in the ice. I was fourteen when I fell in. There have been weeks here, and months there, where I've been out. Add them all up, and … I don't really know where I am now. I never really kept track."

Aster nodded. That explained his not knowing his own age.

"Everyone got so old," Jack said quietly. "Pip… She'll be gone the next time I come back. Maybe North too."

What does one say to that? Aster struggled over some kind of appropriate response, but nothing came.

Jack saved him the trouble. "I'm feeling tired."

"Sure. I'll, um, I'll be right over there…" Aster stood up from the bed and took the few steps to the desk on the other side of the room.

When he looked back, Jack had rolled himself up so he was facing the wall, his face smashed into the pillow.

* * *

**AN**: This was one of the longer ones! I hope that makes up for it taking so long. Some questions were answered? (There's still five chapters to go!)

**Up Next: **Just what secrets is Aster inheriting?


	20. Chapter 19: I'm a Bunny

**Chapter Nineteen**

Aster spent the better part of an hour skimming through the books on the desk. Jack hadn't moved from his huddle on the bed, and he assumed the pale, injured boy had fallen asleep.

The books were either hand-written or typed, and all bound in beautiful leather, and great care and artistry was put into the covers. The style was familiar, very similar to his own, though more refined. He could see echoes of his father in the embellishments, but Aster could never recall his work being so elaborate.

He set aside the volume of _Alternate Universes and You_ that he had been poking through and rooted around for something else to do. The desk had a row of drawers down one side, and he pulled open the first. There was a single jewelcase within, with a disk, and Post-It with Aster's name stuck on the top.

He picked it up, opened the case. The disk was unmarked, a simple writable DVD.

What was he supposed to do with this? He looked up at the TV perched on one of the shelves, and for the first time noticed it was the type with the built-in player underneath.

Did the Warren have _electricity_?

It must, because the TV hummed to life when he pressed the power button. (The question of whether it was magic, or if someone ran a line down here were set aside for later.) He checked to see that Jack was still curled up and facing the wall, hadn't twitched a muscle. He slid the disk into the player.

The screen flickered, and Emmit A. Bunnymund was staring back at him from this very study. He looked like a much older version of Aster, with an unshaven face and crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. His hair was cut short, and gray. Aster was always told he had his mother's eyes, but Emmit's eyes were a fresh grass green as well. He looked tired, and pensive.

And then he spoke, "Hello, Aster. I, uh, I don't know how to go about doing this." His accent was thick. Much thicker than Aster's. "I have a lot to tell you. And if you're seeing this, then that means I'm not around anymore to tell you myself." He looked off to the side, then back to the camera, his face full of sincerity. "And I'm sorry about that."

Aster could hardly see the screen anymore through the tears that were gathering in his eyes. His heart constricted, and when he let go of the breath he was holding, it shuddered. He didn't care what his father was saying; it was enough just to hear his voice again.

"The first thing you should know," Emmit went on, oblivious to his son's struggle, "is that the study exists in a pocket outside of time. Nothing and no one placed in this room will ever advance or age past the moment it entered. That's why I used it to store up all your books and research."

Aster's gaze flicked away from the television to the shelves lined with books, to the desk. Confused, he muttered, "Mine?"

When he looked back, Emmit was smiling patiently. "From the day I first held you, I couldn't figure out how I was going to teach you everything you needed to know. And, I realized, I may not have the time. But I did see the future, and a very talented young man writing on a great many subjects, of which you will learn – you _must_ learn.

"It's not exactly okay to give you the books you haven't written yet, so you can learn about the things you're going to write," Emmit said carefully. "These are desperate measures. These books can never leave this room. They must remain _outside of time_. You could trigger a paradox, or a wormhole. Time is not something we are meant to tamper with. Only protect."

Emmit was deadly serious. Aster could see it.

Time. His father could timetravel.

Aster stumbled backward and sat heavily in the chair. His eyes fell on the books with his father's … No. _His_ name on the covers. E. A. Bunnymund. E. Aster, not Emmit A. The art style was familiar because it was _his_.

Emmit had gone quiet. He stared away from the camera, gathering his thoughts. "Time wasn't the only thing we protected. We shaped worlds, brought them light and new life, and nurtured their growth. There were more of us. Tens of thousands more, scattered across the galaxy." His head dropped. "Then Pitch and his shadow armies came. The battles were never ending. We did not give up, and we did not die easily. But shadows don't sleep, and when they swallowed the sun, we were lost.

"There were few survivors, and we fled in ships. I had two others with me, and we watched the darkness tear escaping craft right out of the sky. Our own ship was badly damaged, but we fought free and made it to Earth. No other ships arrived with us."

It all sounded like something from a science-fiction novel, but Aster didn't doubt a word of it.

"The ship was barely holding together. Entering the atmosphere tore up what was left. We crashed in the ocean, somewhere north of Australia. The two with me didn't survive. I _barely_ survived. If Sandy hadn't been in the area that day, I wouldn't be here."

He heard a rustling, and saw Jack roll over on the bed. Tired blue eyes blinked at him, then focused on the television. Jack pulled the pillow around so he was hugging it. "Look at all that gray," he said. His voice was rough. "Did you do that to him?"

Aster made a shushing sound as Emmit sighed and took up the narrative again. "I may have been the last of our people, and I was stranded here. Sandy explained to me that the people of this planet were not ready for alien lifeforms, and would not take too kindly to an intelligent six foot tall bipedal rabbit—"

It was here that Aster cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes and said, "What?"

And Jack curled up around his pillow and softly giggled.

Emmit went on without pause. "I'm not a rabbit, really. Pooka is the correct term." He stood up from whatever he was sitting on and moved back, so more of him was visible on the screen, everything from the waist up. He pulled off his shirt. "I haven't done this in a long time."

Jack released his pillow and propped himself up on an elbow, anticipation rolling off him in waves. On the screen, Emmit shook out his arms and cracked his neck, took a deep breath, and...

It wasn't horrific, not like those werewolf transformation you see in movies. It was almost beautiful, how all the fur sprang up all over Emmit's face and body like fine, gray grass. His torso dropped, grew longer and more narrow. His shoulders shifted forward, his arms gained length. His hands became paws, but with fingers long enough to still be dexterous.

His face underwent the greatest change, melting and rearranging itself until he was no longer human. Two long ears sprang up from a rabbit-shaped face. "What do you think?"

Jack smiled fondly, sadly, at the image of Emmit in his true form. His eyes were too bright, and his voice too choked, when he said, "Hey, Bunny."

"Bunny," Aster echoed. "My dad's a bunny."

Jack turned a grin on him, though it didn't reach his eyes. "_You're_ a bunny."

"You'll figure this out too," Emmit said, drawing the boys' attention back to him. "You're a Pooka too, like me." He moved in close to the screen. Aster could still see his father in the grass green eyes, the movement of his lips, the way he tilted his head. "You're exactly like me.

"You were the smallest, fuzziest little thing." Emmit took on a faraway look. Jack snorted, but when Aster looked, he had gone back to clinging to the pillow and was not even bothering to clean up the tears dripping from his eyes. "Your baby photos didn't burn up in a fire like we said. We tucked them away somewhere safe, until you were ready. We got you to shift into a human form when you were about two years old, and that was the way it had to be."

Aster moved the chair closer to the bed and lay his hand on Jack's head. Maybe he and Emmit hadn't gotten along, but the man's presence, if only on screen, was clearly painful for the both of them.

"Pitch found his way here shortly after I arrived. Sometimes, I fear I am the one who led him here. Sandy assures me he would have come eventually." Emmit sighed heavily. "I never wanted you to be a part of this fight. Part of why I built the Warren was so you would have a place to go, somewhere Pitch could never touch. But I've seen the future…"

Emmit's nose twitched, and his ears fell back. "You can't change the past. There's no fixing things that have already happened. I hope you understand that." He shifted, looked uncomfortable, but kept his eyes on the camera. "And if I didn't tell you before… I love you. I've always been proud of you. Oh! And there's a box under the desk that should interest you."

There was an awkward moment where Emmit stared out of the television, before he moved forward, leaned in, and shut off the camera.

The hum left behind was deafening.

After a while, Jack started to wiggle around, dislodging Aster's hand from his head so he could twist his face around to look up and behind him. His eyes were red and still very wet. "Are you okay?" he croaked.

Aster nodded, his lips pressed together. He knew his voice would sound just as bad as Jack's if he tried to speak. His eyes stung and he could barely breathe, but he refused to let the tears fall. Jack was still looking at him, he could tell, but he didn't want to see the sympathy or pity.

Jack clutched the pillow as he sat up, still managing to maintain his curled up pose. He scrubbed his face against the pillowcase, and succeeded in only smudging the dirt and tears.

Aster finally cut a glance his way, concerned. "Should you be sitting up?" His voice was rough, like he knew it would be. He cleared his throat.

"'m fine," Jack said from behind the pillow. "I said I heal fast."

Aster grunted, not sure if he believed it. He let it go for now. "You knew my dad."

"I said I did." Jack shrugged and gripped the pillow tighter.

"Yeah, but… How well?"

Jack's eyes were filling up again and his lips trembled. "Well."

"Did … Did you know? That he was…?"

Jack shook his head violently and buried a choked sob in the pillow.

Aster's hand hovered between them, for a second unsure, before resting on a shaking shoulder. "Sorry," he whispered.

There was a wet sniffle, and the shaking eased away. Jack wiped his face over the pillowcase again, though it still didn't help. "The last time I saw him, we were fighting. I slapped him on the back of the head and dove into the lake before he could retaliate. I guess I thought, there would always be next time."

"When was that? How long ago?" He left his hand on Jack's shoulder.

"I'm not sure exactly. Late eighties? You'd have to ask Sandy for the details. He keeps records of everything." A watery smile peeked out over the pillow. "You weren't even a thought."

Aster smiled back. "Maybe you can tell me about it some time?"

A nod, and Jack's smile was a little brighter. "Yeah. I'd like that."

The door burst open, startling them both. Pippa stood in the entrance, her arms full with two paper bags, and her cane dangling off one wrist.

"You could have knocked," Jack said.

"I could have, but then I wouldn't be interrupting." She shuffled into the room and dumped the bags on the desk.

"Interrupting_ what_?" Aster wanted to know.

Pippa took in their wet eyes and Jack's mess of a face, and the blotchy cheeks and scratchy voices, and tsk'd. "That's what I would like to know. What have you boys been up to?"

Jack hurriedly wiped at his face with the sleeves of his sweater – which were just as dirty as the rest of him. "Nothing. It's fine. Don't worry about it. What have you got there?"

She pursed her lips, but grabbed one of the bags and flung it at him. He caught it and tore it open when he saw what was inside. "Clean clothes! Yes!" He leapt up to his feet, hugging the bundle of what Aster thought looked like jeans, a T-shirt, and another hoodie.

Aster was more concerned about Jack – who could barely move a couple of hours ago – dancing around with his new garments. "Will you sit down?" He swept an arm out, and knocked Jack back onto the bed.

Jack landed with a huff and a bounce. "What?"

"What do you mean what? You just had your ass handed to you, and now you're…" Aster waved a frustrated hand in Jack's direction.

Jack grinned, and laughed a little. "Fast healer." He pushed up one torn sleeve. If the blood stains were anything to go by, there should have been a nasty gash of some sort under there. But there was just more crusty blood, and large bruise that was already yellowing. "I need a bath," he announced, and was up on his feet again. "I'm going to get naked!"

Aster didn't try to stop him this time, and Pippa pulled a bar of soap out of the other bag and handed it off to him. "Away from us, please," she said, and pointed him to the door.

Jack bounded out the door and took off running.

"He really is okay?" Aster watched him go, worry evident.

Pippa waved him off with a smile. "I'm sure there are some pains he's not letting on about, but he really is okay. Here, have a bearclaw." She tossed a pack of sticky pastries his way. "I wanted to get you boys something healthier, but the sandwiches at the gas station looked questionable."

"Everything at the gas station is questionable." Aster tore into the pastries. He didn't realize he was hungry until the scent of too much sugar and almond wafted up at him. "Thanks."

"Eh. You save my brother, I buy you junk food. Even trade." She crossed to the bed and carefully lowered herself down with a groan. At Aster's troubled expression, she said, "Too much running around. I'm too old for these adventures anymore. But if I'm going to have one last hurrah, it should be a good one."

Aster was not comforted by those words. Not after his and Jack's conversation. Not now that he knew this was Jack and Pippa's last chance to be together. And it was all going to hell.

If he had known his father was going to die that day one year ago, he would have made what remained of their time together count. There were so many things he never got to say, never got to do. So many hopes and plans that never happened. Would the siblings have any time for themselves – outside of this chaos – to just enjoy each other?

"You've had other adventures?" he asked.

"Oh, yes." Her eyes lit up, and her smile went crooked. She looked like Jack. "I never let Jack have one without me. When it was time for him to come out of the ice, I was there waiting for him. Every time. And when I had my son, he came along. And my granddaughter as well. The others were not always willing to have me or my young ones tagging along, but Jack insisted. When else would he get to bond with his family?"

"Where are they now? The rest of your family?"

"My son passed away ten years ago. Cancer." She put a finger to her lips. "I haven't told Jack yet, and I want to keep it that way for now. My granddaughter is raising her own family a state over, and will be very cross when she learns Jack woke up, and I did not tell her. But I wanted to be selfish and keep him to myself, this one last time."

Aster set aside the pastry he'd only half consumed. It didn't taste good anymore, and what he had eaten felt heavy like lead. "It doesn't seem fair."

"I agree." Pippa snatched up his discarded food and bit into it. "I spoke to North. He's expecting us at the shop. As soon as Jack is ready…"

"My mom…" Now, more than ever, Aster wanted to go back home and get her. He wanted to drag her down into the Warren, where the eternal light would drive away whatever hold Pitch had on her. He wanted tell her all the things he never got to tell his dad.

He felt a thin but warm hand close over his knee. "Your home has been overcome. There is nothing but darkness there. Pitch knows you want to save her. He's counting on it. You stole Jack away from him because he was taken by surprise. He did not expect a rescuer, and he did not expect you. You will not fool him a second time."

"I can't just leave her," Aster protested, his heart climbing up his throat.

"We won't. We will free her, all of us together."

Cool arms dropped over his shoulders, and a light weight fell against his back. He could just make out Jack's snow white hair as he pressed his head into the side of his neck. He hadn't heard the other return, and found it disconcerting to realize Jack could be as sneaky silent as his sister.

"I wasn't around to do anything for your dad," Jack said. "But I'm going to make sure you don't lose your mom too."

Aster reached up to grasp one of Jack's cold hands and give it a light squeeze. "Thank you."

* * *

The Warren, Aster discovered, was much, _much _larger than it appeared. The valley was only one of many thousands of hubs all around the world. Not all of them were so bright and green, as Emmit did not have the time to maintain so many alone. Pippa didn't say it, but Aster had a feeling his father hadn't built the labyrinth of underground tunnels and warrens for just himself and his offspring. He was holding out on more survivors finding their way to Earth.

If there were any.

The Warren – as far as Aster knew, it had no other name – rested under the entirety of Burgess. All he had to do to get to any point within the town was decide he wanted to be there and punch a hole in the ground. A tunnel to that location would open up for him.

Places outside of the town were not tied to the same magic. The lake, for example, was outside of the boundaries. His trailer as well. Eventually, Pippa was confident, he would master his abilities and be able to create tunnels that went anywhere and everywhere he pleased. Emmit had been able to move from continent to continent in a matter of minutes.

Right now, they just wanted to go to the World of Wonders. It was as familiar to Aster as his own home, and when he hit the ground with his hand, a tunnel opened right in the middle of the shop. Jack laughed harder than was necessary when North's head poked into view, looking quite put out.

The tunnel was large enough for all three, plus the box Jack had dragged out from under the desk. He was insistent that they bring it along and look through it when they got back to the shop.

Jack and Aster took either side of Pippa, and all three hopped through. A white daisy bloomed up from the floorboards when the tunnel closed up behind them on the other side.

Pippa stepped back quickly, and the box made a loud thud as it hit floor. Both boys found themselves crushed by a pair of enormous arms. Aster turned his head to avoid getting a face-full of beard. Jack wasn't so lucky, and sputtered beside him.

"My boys are safe!" North boomed overhead. "You both drive me crazy. You know that." He released them with a suddenness that set them both staggering. "Everything is okay?" He clapped a hand over Aster's shoulder, and cupped Jack's cheek.

"Everything is okay," Jack grinned up at North and knocked an elbow into Aster's side. Aster agreed with a quick nod. "You should see what we got!" Jack ducked under North's hand and dove for the box.

While Jack wrestled with the tape sealing the box, Aster took a look around the room. "Where are Miss Tooth and Sandy?"

"Scouting." North toed the flower growing out of his floor. "I see you have discovered some things about yourself."

"Yeah. I'll, um, try not to discover them in the middle of the store again."

North just laughed. Jack crowed triumphantly and threw a wad of tape across the room. Aster moved around to the other side of the box and knelt down to see what was inside, what his father had left behind for him.

"Uh…" He reached in and plucked out one of several … eggs. Well, egg-shaped somethings. They were pretty hefty, and smooth and cool to the touch. He bounced it in his hand, prompting both North and Jack to cry out in alarm. "What? What is it?" He gingerly cupped the thing in both hands and held it away from his body.

Jack very gently took the egg away and set it back in the box. "It's a bomb."

"Say that again."

"It's a bomb." Jack pointed to the box, brimming full of more of the eggs – white, pink, blue, green, yellow… "They're all bombs. Not, like, blow up the building type, but they'll take your hand off if you're not careful. Your dad designed them."

"I helped!" North chimed in.

Jack pulled something else from the box. A long belt. He handed it over to Aster. "This is his bandolier. The bombs fit in each of the pockets."

Aster ran his hands over the leather strap. He didn't care what it was or what it was for. His father had worn this. It belonged to him.

Over his head, a conversation was underway, but he didn't pay it much mind. There was talk of how dark it was, how frightened people were becoming, worry that a mass panic would soon set in.

Miss Tooth and Sandy returned from wherever it was they had gone. North greeted them at the door, asked if they had found anything.

"Nothing we didn't already know," Miss Tooth said. "Just look."

Aster stood up then to join them. He squeezed around North to look out the door – the windows were still boarded up. It was sunset, but the colors were muted and gray. The sky was washed out and weary. And in the distance, where he knew his home to be, and the lake, there was a deep bowl of darkness.

"He will come," North said with a heavy finality. "We should rest up while we can." He used his girth to herd everyone away from the door, then shut and locked it. It, too, had been boarded up, reinforced.

There wasn't much in the way of comfort in the toy shop. Shelves and hardwood floors did not make for good beds. Miss Tooth darted next door to grab a few very small pillows and thin blankets she kept on hand for her patients.

Jack took one of the blankets and pillows and promptly pressed them on his sister. He threw down a pile of stuffed toys for a bed and made sure she was settled and comfortable.

North made a great deal of grunting and groaning noise as he crammed himself in a corner and draped his own jacket over himself. Sandy picked a rocking chair that survived the earthquake and dropped off to sleep almost immediately. Miss Tooth tucked a blanket over him.

Aster went where it was most familiar – the corner where he did his painting. He had relocated his backpack – left here when he volunteered to drive Jack and Sandy to the lake – and was using it as a pillow. He was on his back, his head on his bag, and his father's bandolier caught between his hands.

Miss Tooth hovered over him. "Here's a blanket for you." It was the last one.

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. You go ahead and take it."

"Oh, well…" Her fingers latched around a curl framing her face and twisted it. It was too dark to really tell, but it almost seemed she was blushing. "I don't need it. I insist."

She dropped the blanket on him before he could protest and darted away. He watched her pick her way over to North, and huddle up against the wall with a few feet of space between them. And then one of North's bag arms snuck out from under his coat and pulled her closer. Sandy, in his rocking chair, grinned without opening his eyes, and Miss Tooth stuck out a foot to press up and down on one of the rockers, as if she were rocking a baby to sleep.

"Didn't know they could get all cute like that, did you?" Jack said quietly, smiling softly at the scene. He really could be as silent as Pippa, on those bare feet. If his staff weren't broken, Aster would almost believe he'd just flown over.

"You don't want to join them?"

Jack snorted. "Nah. I never really got into the whole ... cuddlebug thing."

"So what's up? Need something?" He looked up at a fidgeting Jack and pushed himself up on his elbows. "Something wrong?"

Jack shook his head. "No. I…" He crouched down and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Well, I'm supposed to be looking out for you and all, and…"

Aster huffed and tossed his blanket over Jack's head. "So lay down and shut up."

A bright smile appeared from under the blanket. He flopped down next to Aster, pressed in close but facing away, with the blanket fanned out over the both of them. Aster grunted in protest at finding himself squished between the wall and his wiry friend – there was plenty of floorspace – but he didn't have the heart to shove Jack away.

* * *

**AN: **This one was a pain to write. It went through several revisions, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. But! If I messed with it any more, I would never get on to the next chapter. I haven't given this a once-over, so sorry for any mistakes. I will go back over it later and fix any I find.

**Up Next: **Pitch brings the fight to Burgess.

**ETA: **Now with editing. Hope I caught everything...


	21. Chapter 20: Tinkerbell

**Chapter Twenty**

It was dark when Aster woke. _Must still be night_, he thought, though it didn't feel right. His body ached everywhere from laying on the hard wood floor for, he assumed, several hours. It was a wonder he managed to fall asleep at all, but his body must have needed it.

Jack was sitting up beside him, his legs crossed and the two pieces of his staff balanced across his knees. He smiled faintly when he saw Aster was awake. "Morning."

"Is it?" Aster sat up, heard his back crack in several places.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. Almost nine. We almost thought the sun hadn't risen."

We? Aster looked around, and found no one else in the room. "Where…?"

"In the back, getting ready." Jack set his staff aside and got to his feet. "You should see this." He held out a hand.

Aster let Jack help him up, and followed him to the door. The younger unlocked the door and opened it a crack, just enough for Aster to peek out.

It could have been night. The sky was a deep charcoal gray, like storm clouds frozen in place. No stars. No light. It was dismal and lifeless. The sun hovered over the horizon, a deadened dot of red. There were people out on the sidewalks and streets, their voices high and panicked. The air was thick with fear and confusion. A patrol car rolled by, lights flashing, while a voice over intercom warned the people to please return to their homes, go inside.

Aster felt a tug on his shoulder, pulling him back. Jack shut and locked the door.

"Can he be stopped?" Aster asked. Someone with this kind of power did not seem stoppable.

Jack graced him with a smile, one that didn't seem fake or forced in any way. "Of course he can." He hopped away. "But first, I need to fix my baby." He snatched up the pieces of his staff and twirled one in each hand.

Aster watched him curiously. "How do you plan on doing that? Is it going to work the same if you slap a bit of duct tape on it?"

"No," Jack laughed. He carefully fit the broken ends of the staff together and stared them down.

Aster raised a brow. "Is something supposed to happen?"

"It will if you be quiet!" Jack's arms dropped. "I need to concentrate. It's not as easy as I make it look."

"It doesn't look like anything…" Aster muttered.

Jack shot him a warning look as he realigned the staff. He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes, glaring hard at the crack, his whole body tensed. Just when Aster was sure this was some trick, or Jack was destined to be heartbroken with the destruction of his precious staff, light pulsed through the thin crack. Jack relaxed with a smile, but didn't let up his hold. The light flashed again, brighter, and expanded several inches in each direction, before dying away.

Jack flipped the staff, whole and unscarred and turning white with frost, hand-over-hand before thumping the end on the floor. Tendrils of ice spread from the impact. He looked quite pleased with himself.

"You break it often?" Aster asked. Jack seemed too unconcerned, and too familiar with the act of putting it back together.

"Just about every time. Out of my hands, it's just a very old stick."

"If he weren't so dependent on it, we wouldn't have to worry so much about it breaking." Pippa piped up, returning from the back room. Her cane snapped against the floor as she moved toward them. She seemed older, exhausted, stiff.

If Jack noticed, he didn't show it. "Who's worried?" he grinned. He leaned in conspiratorially toward Aster. "They think I should be able to do what I do without the staff. I've tried. Maybe if I had more time out of the ice to train myself." He shrugged.

Aster was saved from having to come up with an appropriate reply by the earth suddenly moving. Another earthquake rattled the walls and sent the floor reeling under their feet. Toys that had been collected and saved from the last quake tumbled down. Jack grabbed Pippa and braced them against his staff, thick ice gathering at the base and welding it to the floor. Aster grabbed the front counter and lowered himself down into a crouch.

As the trembling died away, North, Miss Tooth, and Sandy emerged from the back, grim faced. Miss Tooth and North both carried swords on their hips.

Screams rose up from outside, made louder and more clear when North tore open the door. Through the door, Aster could see people running, people backing away, people frozen and pointing. And then, pools of darkness began to move and slink down the street, over the sidewalk, up walls. The sound of skittering and moaning and gnashing filtered through the screams and shouts.

"He's here," North growled.

"Then let's go!" Jack jerked his staff free of the ice he'd created.

North held up a hand. "No. Tooth, Sandy and I will protect the people. We need you here."

"What? No!" Jack lifted up into the air, meeting North eye to eye. "No way! I…"

North grabbed Jack by the shoulder and held him there. "You will stay," he said, firm, and his grip pushed Jack closer to the ground. "You and Aster defend the shop."

Aster knew what that meant, and bit his tongue. The shop didn't need to be protected – there was nothing about it that was special. He was being left behind because he would be useless out there, and Jack was meant to stay as his defender.

Jack's feet touched down on the floor, casting swirls of ice out on contact. He squared his shoulders, and looked angry with the decision, but nodded and took a step back.

Satisfied, North drew one of his sabers and threw himself out the door with a battlecry. Miss Tooth and Sandy rushed out after him, mismatched swords appearing in the dentist's hands, and long strings of sand sprouting from the small man's hands.

Jack bumped Aster's shoulder, drawing his gaze away from the door. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you set up."

"Set up?" Aster frowned, and followed Jack to the box of bombs. Pippa settled on a stool by the door and leaned wearily against the wall, her eyes on them.

"Yeah. Just in case, you should be ready to fight."

At least Jack didn't think he was he useless. He retrieved the bandolier and, with Jack, armed it with the egg-shaped bombs. He carefully settled it over his shoulder and experimented with reaching for and pulling the bombs free. It would take practice, and he worried that when push came to shove, he would just fumble it all up and damage himself. Or worse.

Unfortunately, fate was not going to let him stay indoors in relative safety. He and Jack both started and turned to the door when a very familiar scream rent the air. Aster was up and bolting for the door before his mind could catch up and warn him to at least be more cautious. Jack was on his heels.

Pippa followed them out, but stayed hovering by the door.

Another scream, and Aster zeroed in on where it was coming from. Up the street, half a block away. Jamie was running toward them, terrified, and dragging his little sister behind him. Shapeless, inky black shadows lumbered after them, tentacle arms whipping out to trip them up or snatch them. It was Sophie who screamed,  
her little legs desperately pumping to keep up with Jamie, who yanked her up and forward every time she stumbled.

Aster slipped an egg bomb free and threw it with all his might, over the kids' heads and into the shadows. The egg burst open with a flash and a burst of pastel pink smoke, which would have been utterly ridiculous, but for the shadows screeching back and away from the explosion.

But it didn't stop them. They gathered up over the gap the bomb had left and resumed the chase.

"Jamie, run!" Aster took off running toward the kids, digging another bomb free. Jack was a step behind him. He lobbed another bomb at the shadows, slowing them a fraction.

He barely registered the patter of Jack's bare feet slapping the concrete, or when it suddenly stopped and, with a whoosh of air, Jack flew ahead of him, his staff braced in front of him like a battering ram. He twisted in the air, his body slicing past the children and right into the darkness, his staff lighting up and bursting with ice so cold Aster could feel it from fifteen feet away.

The shadows recoiled and bubbled up to strike at Jack, who leapt up and over and sideways to avoid them, swinging his staff to knock them back, throwing ice and frost to shatter them.

Jamie and Sophie slammed into Aster's arms, babbling and sobbing. He pulled Sophie up on his hip and gripped Jamie by the wrist, intent on hauling them both to the shop. But they only made it a few feet before something barreled into him, throwing him and the children across the sidewalk. Jamie slipped out of his grasp and landed just out of his reach. He lost his hold on Sophie, and she rolled away from him when his back hit the concrete.

A portion of the shadows had broken away from Jack, and now loomed over him. He moved to throw himself over Sophie, but was a split second too late. He felt a cold that even Jack could not produce, a bone-deep emptiness, and the dark mass fell over him.

It wasn't after him. Sophie wailed as she was swept up from the ground and carried away, up into the sky and out of his reach.

"Aster!" Jack saw, but he was still fending off the bulk of the darkness. "Little help?"

Aster scrambled up from the ground, pulling two bombs from the bandolier and throwing them at the shadows swarming around Jack. They both burst with light and color, and the shades shrieked and recoiled.

Jack's feet hit the ground, but only so he could push off and shoot up into the sky. He twisted and pushed for the blobby dark mass holding Sophie several feet overhead. Aster turned and grabbed Jamie, and stomped his foot. He heard the boy gasp as a tunnel opened up under them. Just before he dropped through, he saw a flash of bright blue light, and Jack snatched Sophie out of the air where a shadow had been.

The tunnel opened up in the center of the shop, spitting Aster and Jamie out among the litter of toys. Aster hastily pushed Jamie into a corner and ran for the door. He was almost bowled over by a blast of frigid air, and Jack swooping full speed into the store.

The skinny teenager flipped and struck the far wall with both feet, then drifted back and to the center of the room. In his arms, Sophie was cradled close, his staff clutched awkwardly in one hand. He set down and crouched to release her.

Aster slammed the door shut, and wondered if that would even keep them safe. He turned to where Jamie was hugging his sister and asking her if she was okay.

Sophie, though, seemed more interested in staring up at Jack with wide, wonder-filled eyes. "Fairy!" she declared. "Tinkerbell!"

Jamie groaned. "He's not a fairy, Soph." He tilted his head up with a frown. "Are you?"

Jack just laughed. "Maybe I am?"

Aster opened his mouth to inform them all – even Jack – that he was not a fairy. But then changed his mind. He wasn't sure _what_ Jack was, really.

"You can _fly_!" Jamie cried out. He pointed an accusing finger at Jack, then swung around to Aster. "And you! Where did that hole come from? And how did we end up in here?"

"It's a long story," Aster said. He moved to the box of bombs and began refilling the bandolier. "And I will tell you everything when this is over, okay?" He stood up from his task and readjusted the strap over his shoulder. "Now, where is your mom? What were you two doing out there?"

Jamie bit his lip. "I don't know. We were walking down to the diner for work, and those … those things came up from the ground and the walls, and Mom told us to run. So we did. But she wasn't with us." His eyes filled up with tears and his chin trembled.

Aster strode over to the shop's landline. He and Jamie lost their fathers on the same day. Would they be orphaned together as well? He quickly dialed Mrs. Bennett's number and prayed she would pick up.

She did, before the first ring was through. "North?"

"No, ma'am. Aster." Jamie pressed up against his side and strained up on his toes, wanting to hear the conversation, his mother's voice. Aster bent so they could share the receiver. "I have Jamie and Sophie with me…" Jack, holding Sophie, approached.

"Oh, thank god. Thank you. _Thank you_. Are they safe? Are they okay?"

"Yes, they're fine…"

"We're okay, Mom!" Jamie said. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the fire station. Brad and Andrew took one of the trucks out. They've been grabbing people and bringing them back here. I … I thought I saw Miss Tooth with a sword…"

"Probably," Aster agreed. "Listen, it's best if everyone just stays indoors. I'll take care of your kids. I won't let anything happen to them, I promise."

There was a space of silence, and then, "I know you will. Thank you. I'll come for you all when it's safe."

You all. She meant Aster as well as her own kids. And he felt a heavy ache, a sense of loss, and a longing for his own mother, though some part of him wondered if she would brave the darkness to get to him.

Jamie pulled the phone away and pressed it against his ear. "Mom? We're going to be okay, okay? I love you."

Aster couldn't hear her reply, but pulled Jamie into a hug when he started to cry, and hung up the phone when it was handed to him. Sophie, seeing her brother in distress, began to wiggle and whimper.

Jack flipped the little girl around so they were face to face. "Hey, Sophie, do you want to draw some pictures with me?" He gasped playfully. "I bet no one would mind if we borrowed the paint. You wanna paint?"

Sophie nodded miserably, but cheered up quickly when Jack arranged the paint table with paper and pens and a let her pick out the colors of paint she wanted.

Aster rubbed Jamie's back. "Want to join them?"

Jamie made a face, and huffed a sort-of laugh as he brushed the tears away with his hands. But said, "Yeah. Sure."

There were only two chairs in the shop – one for the paint table, and one in the back. They dragged out a crate for a third. Jack was content to let Sophie sit on his lap and direct him on what to draw, while Aster and Jamie sat across from him.

An hour later, Jamie had given up on drawing anything, all of his attempts crumpled on the floor, despite Aster's protests. It was Aster's drawing of Sophie dutifully painting Jack's sketch that had discouraged all of Jamie's efforts. He resigned himself to simply watching in awe as Aster's pencil raced around the paper.

The door banged open, and Aster's pencil sliced through the paper, a thick black line ending in a rip. But he didn't pay it any mind. He was on his feet and reaching for a bomb.

When he saw North and Miss Tooth and Sandy pause at the threshold, he relaxed. They entered, and shut the door behind them. Miss Tooth locked it. They all looked beat up and exhausted. North was missing his coat. Miss Tooth's shirt was torn in several places. Sandy … Well, aside from his shirt being untucked, he looked just fine.

"Are you all okay?" Jack asked. He remained sitting, with Sophie on his lap. She painted on with hardly a glance at those who entered.

"Fine, fine," North replied, waving a hand. "We have done what we can for now."

"We need a plan," Miss Tooth said, sinking into the rocking chair. Sandy nodded.

"The Bennett children?" North questioned, tilting his head to Jamie – who was watching them all with a curious, cautious expression – and Sophie.

"Yeah." That was all Aster offered. It should be obvious why they were there.

North said no more, simply smiled tiredly and disappeared into the back.

Sophie broke the uneasy silence that followed by holding her painting up over her head and shouting, "Tinkerbell!"

Her Tinkerbell looked an awful lot like Jack.

* * *

**Up Next: **The gang tries to hash together a plan, and Pitch makes a move that may prove fatal.


	22. Chapter 21: Not All of Us Will Wake

**Trigger Warning: **Character death, suicide, blood.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Pippa was missing.

That he hadn't even noticed until Tooth posed the question of where she was sent Jack into a panicked frenzy. It took North physically restraining him and threatening to tie him to the rocking chair to keep him from dashing out into the deepening darkness outside to find her. He stopped screaming at all of them when his voice cracked and abandoned him entirely. Stricken with guilt, he balled up in one corner and hid his face in the sleeves of his too-big sweater.

Aster felt the guilt gnaw at him as well. They had been so wrapped up in taking care of the children, neither one had noted the elderly woman's absence. She could be so silent and unobtrusive when she wanted, he supposed he had just overlooked the fact that she wasn't there at all.

That was no excuse.

Even so, in all his railing and pleading, Jack never once accused Aster for forgetting about his sister. He took all the blame on himself.

They tried calling her, several times. Her phone when straight to voicemail every time.

Pitch had her. Of that they were certain.

"So how do we get rid of him?" Aster asked, because Jack wasn't saying anything. "How do you destroy something like that?"

"He cannot be destroyed," North said.

Confusion. Anger. Disappointment. "What do you mean, he can't...?"

"He is fear. Fear cannot be destroyed." How North could be so calm, so patient, was infuriating.

"Then...then what are we supposed to do?"

Sandy mimed a man - two fingers - walking into the opposite palm, and his fingers closing over. North nodded. "Yes. We must trap him. Seal him away."

"Where? _How_?"

Miss Tooth slid up next to him, and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We don't know. Not yet."

"Yes we do." Jack's voice was rough. He leaned against the wall as he dragged himself to his feet. "We send him back to the pit he crawled out of."

"_We_ will do nothing." North was still calm, still patient. Jack scowled back at him. "You and Aster must stay..."

"Don't you dare!" Jack interrupted. "That's my sister out there! I did not wake up to stand on the sidelines while you..."

"You woke up to protect the last of the Pooka," North said, his voice rising only enough to cut off Jack. Aster winced. Jack's teeth clicked as he snapped his mouth shut. "I think it would be best if you boys focused on helping the people. Get them into the Warren, where they will be safe. Tooth, Sandy and I will deal with Pitch."

Aster had to admit, that did sound a lot better than fighting deadly shadows, or even Pitch himself. He had yet to see North or Miss Tooth fight, but if they were anything like Sandy, he bet they would be just fine without his help.

Jack, on the other hand, was not satisfied, and seethed quietly.

But when the sound of laughter, dark and humorless, rose from outside and crept through the plywood barriers nailed over the door and windows, Jack was the first to sprint for the exit. North went after him, warning him not to open the door, but the order was ignored. Ignored because words came with the laughter.

"Come out, my friends, and see what I have found," it taunted. "A poor old woman, all alone. Won't someone come and take her home?"

The locks were thrown and the door swung open before North could stop him. He made another grab, and caught Jack by the hood of his sweater. Jack swung around and ice burst from his staff – not enough to hurt, but enough to startle the large man into letting go. Wind blasted into the shop, lifting Jack up and carrying him out.

Aster ducked under North's reach and followed him out. If he was going to be this stupid, he shouldn't be alone. Besides, Pippa's predicament was as much Aster's fault as it was Jack's.

They didn't have to go far. Pitch was right outside the shop, in the middle of the street. Pippa was clutched close, with one of his long arms pinning both of hers. His other hand held a gnarled obsidian dagger to her throat. Shadows bled from his feet.

Aster pulled an egg grenade from the bandolier and held it loosely in his hand. Jack hovered just over his shoulder, radiating cold and thrumming with tension. He was only vaguely aware of the others coming to stand behind them, the metallic slide of blades being drawn.

Pitch's smile was like a jagged knife cutting over ashen skin. "Five against one. That's not fair."

"Neither is taking hostages!" Jack snapped back. The air crackled around him.

Aster blamed the shaking of his hands and body on the chill, and not the fear creeping down his spine.

"I beg to differ. Taking hostages is par for the course." Pitch pressed the dagger against Pippa's throat, dimpling the skin. She didn't look afraid. Just worried, her eyes fixed on Jack. "I take a hostage and make my demands. You give me what I want, or I kill the hostage. It's an old game."

"What do you want?" Jack asked.

North moved, said, "Jack, don't…" The staff swung down, hard and fast, between them, cutting off his words and preventing him from getting too close.

Amused by the display, Pitch's smile grew. "A life for a life. I want that abomination—" He tilted his head toward Aster. "—and in exchange, you can have your sister back."

Indignation overwhelmed the fear, and Aster felt anger flare hot and wild in his chest. If it weren't for Pippa, he would have hurled his egg right at Pitch. He wondered, distantly, if Jack could feel his distress like he could feel Jack's emotions in the drop of temperature, or the swirls of ice that gathered around him. The floating boy dropped a few feet down and gripped his shoulder – holding him off or comforting, or maybe both.

Jack didn't say anything. He didn't agree to the terms, but he didn't refuse them either.

North spoke for all of them. "No deal!" He moved to stand beside Aster, his blades steady in each hand.

"Oh, come now. We all know he doesn't belong here," Pitch chuckled. "He doesn't belong anywhere. He shoudn't exist."

"That's not true." Jack's fingers dug into Aster's shoulder.

"Of course it is." Pitch wasn't looking at anyone but Aster. He latched on to the confusion seeping through the anger and fear. "Did no one tell you?" he cooed. "Space rabbits and humans can't reproduce. You were not born. You were created. You're a clone. A copy."

Aster's confusion only grew, surmounting everything else. He glanced over at North, who was looking back with sympathy. "It does not matter how you were born," he said. "You are Bunny's son."

Pitch's laugh was cold. "You are nothing more than Bunny's desperation and loneliness made flesh, all so he wouldn't be the last." He sneered, "Look how well that worked out."

"Shut up," Aster growled.

"No." The knife dug in. Spots of red welled up where the blade pressed into Pippa's throat, and for a moment her worry slipped into fear, and she grabbed on to his arm with both hands. She lacked the strength to budge him.

Jack screamed something incoherent and dropped out of the air. His hand on Aster's shoulder trembled. He was holding on, no longer to keep Aster in place, but to keep himself rooted. "Please, stop…" His voice was thick and terrified, and Aster refused to look at him.

"I will," Pitch sang. His eyes remained on Aster. "Come with me, little bunny."

"You'll let her go?" Aster asked. North and Miss Tooth cried out in protest. Jack didn't say anything. But he didn't let go.

Pitch inclined his head.

Aster had to pry Jack's hand away from his shoulder before he could take even a small, shuffling step forward. North's sword rose up in front of him, to block his way. He lifted a foot to thump a hole in the ground. Pitch pulled the knife away from Pippa's throat. Pippa looked calm now, resigned.

That should have been a warning.

It all happened so fast. Jack realized it a half-second too late, and was already in motion, but not fast enough.

Pippa, her hands still tight around Pitch's arm, took advantage of his loosening hold. She jerked his arm down, grabbed his hand, and slammed the knife into her own chest. She began to crumple, and Pitch, not quite grasping what had happened, folded over her as she fell. Blood pattered down beneath them.

A look of revulsion twisted his face, and he dropped her. A swirl of shadows engulfed him and vanished him away as Jack's ice rent the air where he had been standing.

By the time Aster and the others reached them, Jack was curled over Pippa, one hand flexing and grazing over her shoulder, the other combing through her hair. He was pleading with her. Please hold on. Don't go. I need you. Please don't go. Hold on.

North knelt behind her and carefully moved an arm and bits of her coat and dress. His face was grave, and Aster knew there was nothing they could do. Miss Tooth tried, unsuccessfully, to get through to the emergency line, to get an ambulance. But even if one were to arrive, none of them really believed the shadows would allow them to leave town.

Pippa's hand moved, and held Jack by the back of his head. Whispered words passed between them, too low for anyone else to hear.

Her hand fell limp.

Jack wailed and sobbed and pressed his face into her hair and grabbed at her clothes.

North removed his coat and lay it over her, hiding the wound and the dagger still embedded in her. For a moment, they all grieved, and let Jack cry until his voice trailed off into whimpers and short gasps.

"We should move inside," North finally suggested.

Jack refused to move, even as North tried to lift Pippa's body away from him. Aster stepped in to gather his friend up, pull him away. Jack was so light, it was no effort at all to haul him to his feet and drag him into the store. Sandy brought his staff. And North brought his sister.

North marched quickly past Jamie and Sophie, who stared with wide eyes. He brought Pippa to the back room, out of sight of the two children. Miss Tooth followed him. Sandy took one look at Jack, then waved the children to a quiet corner and set about distracting them with toys.

Jack collapsed in the corner where the boys had slept the night before, tugging his hood up over his head and hiding his face behind his drawn knees. Aster quietly settled in next to him.

An hour passed before Jack said anything. Though his voice was quiet, the suddenness of it startled Aster, who had been watching Sandy entertain the children. "I'm not staying out of the fight," he said. "Not now."

"I don't expect you to," Aster replied. "I'll be right there with you."

Jack nodded. He tipped to the side, so he was leaning against Aster's arm. "What did you do? When Emmit…?"

Aster shifted so he could get his arm around Jack's shoulders and maneuver him into a more comfortable position, with his head nestled in the crook of Aster's shoulder. "I was angry, at him. At everyone. Myself. I just wanted to destroy something. I wanted to get rid of all the hurt inside. So… So I took my mom's car, and I ran it into a wall."

"Did it work?"

"No. I was still angry, and depressed, and I gave myself a concussion."

Jack sighed, shuddery and deep, and felt heavier. "Why your mom's car? If you were going to ruin something, why not your truck?"

"The truck was my dad's. I couldn't…" He lay his head on top of Jack's. He could feel the other was beginning to drift off.

"Did you cry?" Jack's voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah." Aster closed his eyes. "I still do."

* * *

**AN: **This one was hard to write, for a lot of reasons.

**Up Next: **The final showdown.


	23. Chapter 22: Swallowed

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Aster stood alone on the street. He couldn't remember coming out here, or why, or why he was alone. It was dark, and cold. No moon. No stars. Shadows shivered and writhed all around him. Dark mounds were scattered over the street and sidewalks, in doorways and yards.

Someone – a man – screamed somewhere ahead of him, somewhere he couldn't see. It was too dark. His eyes strained as he tried to focus.

More screams followed the first, men and women alike.

Aster ran. He ran blind, around the dark mounds that littered the ground, toward the terrified cries for help.

And he found them. A handful of men and women – he couldn't identify them, he could barely see them – being dragged out of their shelter and into the street. He tried to reach them, but his foot caught on a mound and he fell. The shadows tore at them, pinned them and threw them about, and then engulfed them. There was a series of cracks, like brittle twigs snapping, and the screams stopped.

The shadows retreated, leaving behind the bodies. Dark mounds on the street.

Aster held back a whimper and slowly turned on his side to look at the lump that had tripped him. One of his classmates stared back, eyes wide and terrified and mouth open in a silent scream. Aster scrambled away.

And found his back pressed up against something solid. He froze, fear ratcheting through him, and looked up, up into yellow eyes and a sallow gray face. Before he could react, or even take his next breath, thin fingers grabbed him at the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. They held him in place, as hot breath curled around his ear.

"It's over. There is nothing left to save."

A figure materialized from the darkness ahead. A small, thin woman with curls. Susan Bunnymund stopped several feet away and stood there, wavering, her eyes blank and dull.

The weight at Aster's back vanished and he stumbled as he was released. He took a step, just one, toward his mother, hand reaching out to her. But the shadows rose up and stretched into Pitch's shape behind her.

"How does it feel," he asked, drawing a hand down the side of her face, "to be the only survivor?"

It was Pippa all over again. Susan jerked forward, and something gleaming and sharp protruded from her stomach. Pitch yanked his blade out of her back and let her drop.

Aster screamed. He screamed long, and hard, until his throat was raw. Until something sudden and stinging caught him across the face.

He jerked, and swung, and struck Jack.

Jack held his cheek with a glare. "This is the second time you've done that!"

"What...?" He was shaking, his heart was beating too fast and too hard. There was a light over Jack's shoulder. Candlelight.

He wasn't on the street. He was in the shop, the wooden floor hard under him, and his back against the wall. Jack was sitting beside him. North and Miss Tooth were standing off to the side, both concerned. Sandy was kneeling on his other side. On the other side of the room, he could see Jamie poking his head out of a blanket while Sophie snored on beside him.

"Dream," he sighed. He rubbed his face with both hands. "It was a dream."

"Yeah. A pretty bad one from the sounds of it," Jack said. Sandy nodded in agreement. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I think so." Aster dropped his hands and smiled weakly. "Did I wake everyone?" Sandy nodded, and Jack shrugged with a look that said, yes. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Do you want to talk about it?" Jack settled back against the wall.

Aster realized they both must have fallen asleep after … after. How much time had passed? He couldn't tell. He didn't want to burden anyone – especially not Jack – with talk of Pitch and death. He didn't want to draw up memories that were only hours old. "No," he said. "I'm … I'll be fine."

North frowned, but nodded and directed Miss Tooth back to their corner of the shop. Sandy lingered a moment longer, worried, but he too left with a parting pat on Aster's shoulder.

Aster pressed his back into the wall and made an attempt to relax. He had to believe his mother was alive, and that when all of this was over, everything would go back to normal. (As normal as it could be, knowing what he now knew.)

He turned his head and looked down at the top of Jack's white head of hair. He gave the other a gentle nudge. "How are you holding up?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I feel kind of wrung out. I'm trying to hold it together, but I really don't want to." He hunched over his knees and yanked his hood up. "She's always been there. Every time I woke up, she was there. And now…"

Aster hesitated, debated, and carefully dropped his arm over Jack's shoulder. Jack twisted under the weight, and he almost drew back before he realized Jack was just making himself comfortable, curling up against Aster's side. Aster wondered if someone as cold as Jack was drawn to warm bodies, or if he was just special.

His eyes felt heavy, and he felt sleep pulling at him. He fought it, afraid another nightmare was waiting for him.

Jack said, "She did it for you."

"Hm?" He roused himself and looked down, but all he could see was Jack's hood.

"She didn't want Pitch to have you. She said the world needs you more than it needs her." There was a sniffle. "She said she's old. Her time was up. She only stuck around so she could see me one last time."

Aster remembered Pippa telling him as much, back in the Warren. He rubbed a hand up and down Jack's arm. "I'm sorry. I really am. There should have been another way." Pippa hadn't given them a chance to find one. "We'll get him. There has to be a way…"

"He can't be destroyed," Jack reminded him, voice a hiss of venom.

"Maybe not. But North said he can be trapped. He must have some kind of weakness."

Jack nodded. "Light. Not … just any light. Electrical light or flaming torches will hold back the shadows, but they won't harm _him_. You need pure light, like the sun. It's why he blotted it out. It doesn't just push the shadows away, it destroys them and his power over them."

Aster closed his eyes. He didn't want to sleep, but everyone else was tucked away. The shop was silent. He and Jack were speaking quietly, but he felt that every ear could hear them.

"What about the Warren?" he asked slowly. "What would happen if the shadows were forced down there?"

"They wouldn't survive. But it wouldn't make any difference. As long as there is light and dark, there is going to be shadows. It's Pitch who gives them life."

"And if we force Pitch into the Warren?"

"I don't know," Jack said, sitting up from his tired slouch. "He would be weakened. Maybe trapped? We would have to fashion some kind of prison…"

"It would stop him?"

"…Yes? Maybe. I think it would." Jack was still for a moment, but Aster could see the wheels turning. "We could draw him to the lake."

"The lake?"

Jack didn't get a chance to elaborate.

The screaming started.

He was dreaming again. He had to be. But his eyes were open. Outside, across the street maybe, up the road. Many voices.

North was already on his feet, swords in hand. Miss Tooth wasn't far behind, gathering herself up from the floor, her own blades bare and ready. Sandy flexed his hands and watched the door warily. Jack snagged his staff with a foot, drawing it close enough to grab. He and Aster got to their feet.

"What's happening?" Jamie asked. He huddled under his blanket, too afraid to move.

Aster was afraid he already knew.

North pried the wood off the door with one of his swords and his bare hands, allowing them to look out. They could see the grocery across the street. It was Aster's nightmare come to life. The windows and doors were torn open, and thick shadows were sweeping into the building and dragging people out. There were already bodies on the ground.

Aster felt faint, dizzy, sick. He wavered on his feet.

North unlocked the door and kicked it open. With a howl, he took off, swords swinging. Miss Tooth and Sandy followed.

Jack started forward, then stopped when Aster didn't go with him. "We need to get out there," he said. "What are you … Are you okay?"

Aster nodded, but it wasn't convincing. "This happened in my dream. He killed everyone. He killed my mom." Jamie whimpered from his corner.

"He got inside your head." Jack grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "He was just trying to scare you."

Aster shuddered and shook his head. "Right. You're right."

"Okay, listen." Jack grabbed him by the shoulders. "Get the kids somewhere safe. I'll meet you at the lake."

Before Aster could protest, Jack was in the air and flying out the door.

Aster shut the door – for all the good it would do – and walked over to the children as calmly as he could manage. It wouldn't do to scare them – well, Jamie – any further. Sophie was still sound asleep, completely oblivious. But Jamie was shaking and staring at the door – with a perfect view of the carnage outside - with impossibly wide eyes. Aster placed a hand in front of the boy's eyes, blocking the view.

"We're going to get out of here, okay?" Aster said, his tone soft. He managed to not sound as afraid as he felt.

Jamie squeaked, his voice failing him, and nodded. Aster gave him an encouraging smile and gathered Sophie up in his arms.

The door rattled, then shook hard. Jamie whimpered, and Aster wanted to do the same. He stood and stomped on the ground. A tunnel opened. "Hop in," he said. "I'll be right behind you."

Jamie wasted no time scooting toward the hole and dangling his legs over the edge. "It looks deep," he said.

"You won't even notice," Aster assured him. The pounding at the door grew more insistent, harder, louder. The glass cracked.

Jamie dropped into the tunnel, deciding a deep hole was better than waiting around for the shadows to beat their way in. Aster tightened his hold on Sophie and jumped in after.

They popped out in the Warren, just outside the hill in which the study was dug. Jamie's eyes had gone wide again, this time in awe. He laughed a little when he saw the door attached to the hill. "Is that a hobbit house?"

"Ah, no. More like a … rabbit house." Aster tipped his head to the door. "Mind opening that for me?"

"Rabbit?" Jamie was the picture of confusion as he pulled open the door. He turned to give Aster a disbelieving look. "Rabbits do a lot of reading, I guess?"

Aster smiled. "Some do!" He entered the small room and settled Sophie on the bed. It was still a mess from when Jack occupied it, but he didn't have time to track down clean linens. "Okay, Jamie." He turned to face the small boy. "You and Sophie need to stay here, in this room. No matter what, _you do not leave this room_. I will come and get you when it's safe."

"What if the shadows come?" Jamie asked. He crawled up on the bed next to his sister and pulled his blanket up over his head.

"They won't. They can't get down here. You're safe here. You trust me?"

Jamie nodded. "Yeah. I trust you."

"Okay." Aster drew Jamie into a quick hug. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

He shut the door behind him and opened a tunnel back to Burgess. He would go to the lake. Soon. He just … He had to see.

He came out on the street, outside of the World of Wonders. Across the way, in the grocery store parking lot, a battle was raging. North was a powerhouse, charging into the shadows, his swords slashing through the darkness, cutting it to pieces. Miss Tooth was a blur of color, her blades too fast to follow, darting in and out and always one step ahead of the dark. Sandy was high overhead, drawing the shadows up to his cloud of gold and cutting them down with his whips.

There was no sign of Pitch.

There was no sign of Jack.

Aster was about to stomp open another tunnel back to the Warren when a flash of blue caught his eye. It was somewhere near the high school. He opened a tunnel leading right to it – he was getting good at this! - and found both Pitch and Jack. Jack was, unbelievably, chucking snowballs glowing blue at Pitch, using his agility and speed to his advantage to keep out of reach of the snarling man. Monster. Whatever he was.

The shadows were not so thick here, and their swipes at Jack were feeble, their reach too short. It occurred to Aster that Pitch had limits. He was stretching his control over the entirety of the town, and now fighting off North and Miss Tooth and Sandy. His command of the shadows was pulling thin.

Jack shot a burst of ice at Pitch, who erected a black wall to save himself from the blast. When the wall dispersed, like oily smoke, his face was twisted with rage. A spear of black formed in his hand, and he hurtled it at Jack. Aster nearly cried out in warning, but Jack swooped and just barely avoided being impaled.

"I will _kill_ you," Pitch seethed. Another long, dark, sharp weapon appeared in his hand.

"Not if you don't catch me!" Jack flashed a grin, though his eyes were cold. The wind roared down the street and threw Jack up and away. He shot off toward the lake.

The shadows grew around Pitch, pooled at his feet and crawled up his emaciated body. They slithered in from every direction. He was drawing them in, recalling his army. Jack really pissed him off, if this was his reaction to snowballs and taunting. Though Aster suspected there was also a history between them he was not privy to.

Aster watched the shadows completely engulf Pitch, and then collapse into nothing. Time to go. He dropped into a tunnel, back to the Warren. He had never run so fast as he hurried to the cave beneath the lake. He didn't even look as he thumped a hole and jumped in.

He probably should have looked.

No. Definitely should have looked.

He was right behind Pitch, practically breathing in the fibers of his black shirt. Aster wheeled back, and stumbled, and saw nothing but darkness all around him. It was pouring off Pitch's body and swimming over the ice and slush that made up the lake. He couldn't move without stepping on it.

He felt something catch around his waist and screamed. Pitch whirled around, but he was already flying through the air, and then sliding across the ice, away from danger. The pressure on his middle let go, and he slid to a stop. Jack flipped his staff up and away.

"What were you doing?" he asked. There was a spark of amusement that pulled his grin crooked.

"I didn't plan that!" Aster shot back. He turned his focus on why they were here, on Pitch, who seemed to grow, his gray face darkening with fury. "You said you had a plan?"

"Yeah. We need to drop him into the Warren." Jack's hands flittered over his staff, adjusting, readjusting. He eyed Pitch from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh, is that all?" Aster pulled a couple of eggs from his bandolier.

The shadows gathered and shifted. Jack blasted them, and they recoiled, but only for a second.

"And the lake is special, why?" Aster asked, his nerves making themselves known as his voice wavered.

"We're going to trap him in the ice. There's a cave under here, right?"

"Yes." Pitch was moving, taking slow stride across the ice in the wake of his shadows. Aster took a step back. "Pretty much where he's at right now, actually."

"Okay good." Jack didn't not seem all that concerned as he swept his staff around, and a wide arch of white slashed through the darkness creeping up on them. "I need you to drop him, and … a big chunk of the lake, into the cave."

Jack kicked the air and rocketed into the sky. "Oh, is that all!?" Aster shouted after him.

He didn't even know if he _could_ drop the lake into one of his tunnels. And wasn't it all ice? It was melting on the surface, but did that mean it was melting underneath as well? He suddenly didn't feel very safe out here on the frozen water. (Not that he felt safe with Pitch and hungry evil shadows bearing down on him.)

"What do you hope to accomplish here?" Pitch's tone was mocking, amused. It left his lips and slithered all around, snagged on the wind. "Do you hope to save your little town by luring me here?" He was still moving, his steps measured and slow, though the anger that Jack had sparked in him shone from his sickly yellow eyes. "Once I am rid of you both, I will tear it to pieces. I will personally see to those you hold most dear."

Aster tried to block out of the sound of his voice, but it was in his head. Over Pitch's head, he could see Jack dropping to the ice, kneeling down, and pressing both hands to the surface.

Pitch went on, "Except dear mommy. I've already dealt with her. It was quick. I was merciful."

Aster stepped backward as the shadows leaked toward his feet. He held an egg in each hand. "You're lying," he spat.

"I'm not." Pitch tilted his head, put on a face of mock concern. "Did you think it was just a dream?"

Unbidden, the image of his mother falling, blood spreading around her, surfaced in his mind. He shook his head, dispelling the vision. "Stay out of my head!" The first egg flew, then the second. Pitch dodged them both, but they struck the shadows, broke them up with brilliant flash of light and color.

Jack shot up into the air and loosed a snowball. This, Pitch did not see coming, and could not avoid it. It caught him on the back of the head. He whirled around with a snarl, and with a wave of his hand sent a mass of shadows up and after Jack. Jack pushed higher, and moved away.

Away from Aster and Pitch. And Aster realized with a drop in his stomach and tremulous resolve that the next part was his.

He ran. He dashed right by Pitch, toward the part of the lake that stood over the Warren's cave, his mind spinning with a million plans, a thousand outcomes, and none of them good.

He reached his destination. It wasn't far. But now… now…

His feet were yanked out from under him. He felt the coil of the shadows too late. He struck the ice on his chest, the breath forced out of him. He scrabbled for something to hold on to, leverage, any kind of escape. But the shadows slid up and over him, twisted around his arms and hands. The ice cracked under him. It wasn't frozen all the way through. Not anymore.

Where was Jack? He tried to crane his neck up, to look around, but he couldn't even do that. He was pinned.

Pitch's booted feet walked into his line of sight. "Poor little rabbit. Shall I end you like I did you mother?"

Aster grit his teeth, tried to focus through the spike of pain in his chest, the anger boiling over. "She isn't dead," he ground out. He struggled to raise one hand.

"Your denial is adora…" Aster slammed his hand down against the ice. He imagined the unfrozen water rushing into it, draining into the cave. The lake emptying into the Warren. What good would that do?

A tunnel opened right under Pitch's feet. The shadows swept in and pulled him back from the drop, and deposited him safely beside it. "You didn't really think that would work, did you?" he laughed.

Aster struggled against his dark bonds. The ice spiderwebbed away from him, and he stopped.

He heard his name, and in a flash of freezing cold light, the shadows holding him down vanished. He scrambled onto his knees and looked up.

Jack plummeted, a blur of blue, as if he intended to punch right through the ice.

He struck Pitch instead.

The shadows had reared up to protect their master, but all happened so fast. They were an instant too late.

Pitch clawed at and struck Jack, but the boy held his grip, and momentum carried them both into Aster's hole. Water splashed up and froze solid.

They were gone.

* * *

**AN: **I gave this a lookover last night, but I was pretty out of it, so I probably didn't catch everything. Or anything. One more to go!

**Up Next: **The aftermath.


	24. Chapter 23: Drifting Forward

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

He didn't notice the shadows retreat. He didn't see them fade away and grow still along the edge of the lake. He didn't see the grayness of the sky light up with reds and golds as the sun – bright and full and yellow – climbed away from the horizon.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he should get up, go home, find his mother because she had to be alive. She _had_ to. He couldn't lose anyone else.

But he didn't. He couldn't. He couldn't face the possibility that he was wrong, that the nightmare was real.

So he sat on the ice, and watched the puncture where Jack and Pitch had fallen through, where the water splashed up in their wake and remained frozen. He willed it to move, to melt, to crack open. Even if it meant Pitch came back – Jack would come back too. They could try again, try something else.

He didn't see a spark of gold between the trees, or Sandy float out from the forest and over the ice to settle quietly beside him. He felt a small hand on his shoulder. He looked sideways, and Sandy gave him a questioning look. He shook his head.

He heard his name bellowed – North – and then echoed with concern – Miss Tooth. Sandy kept his hand on his shoulder. It was a warm, gentle comfort.

"Aster!" North's heavy footfalls were too loud. They stopped beside him.

Miss Tooth was a step behind, and knelt down so she could see his face. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. He didn't feel any hurt. Not physically. He would discover the bruises later.

Above him, North scanned the lake, the trees, and turned a circle. "Where is Jack?"

He knew the question was coming. Still, he wasn't prepared to answer. They shouldn't have gone and done this on their own. Maybe things would have been different if the others had been involved. He forced the words up and out. "He's gone."

"Gone? How gone?" North bent to look at him. Miss Tooth chewed her lip. They all looked worried, scared, confused.

He gestured to the frozen splash. "He's gone." He told them what happened, and never once looked at them. He didn't want to see their disappointment or anger. But when he was done, Miss Tooth threw her arms around him and spoke words of comfort in his ear. He wasn't aware he was crying.

North straightened with a sigh. "It is probably for the best," he said at length. "Jack was soon to return to the lake anyway."

"How is that for the best?" Aster demanded. He was angry. Angry at how accepting they all were of a teenage boy spending mountains of his life stuck in ice.

"It is the way things are," North said, calmly. Carelessly, Aster thought. The old man was looking up, at the waning crescent moon. "He would grow old like the rest of us if he remained out here."

"What if he wants to grow old?" Aster dragged himself up from the ice, wincing as aches and pains made themselves known. His legs were numb, from sitting on them for so long, from sitting on ice for too long.

"It is not up to us, or him. We answer to a higher authority." North nodded to the moon, but Aster didn't understand what he meant, and no one elaborated.

Aster stomped on the ground, and a tunnel opened. Before he could jump in, Miss Tooth grabbed his arm and asked, "Where are you going?"

He shrugged her off. "I put Jamie and Sophie in the Warren, to keep them safe. I'm going to take them home." He was gone before anything more could be said.

* * *

Aster found himself in a tunnel. More accurately, it was the tunnel that led to the cave under the lake. And it was bright. Almost as bright as the Warren proper. And colorful. A rainbow of color shimmered against the walls and floor. At his feet, tendrils of ice wound back into the cave – water frozen in its escape. The air around him was chilly, and he could see his breath on every exhale.

He followed the water trails, saw them grow thicker and thicker until they joined and spread and covered the ground completely. He slipped on the ice when he took the first step onto it, and used the wall as support.

The frozen floor inclined gradually, and ended at a wall of ice. This was where the light shone out and refracted in a multitude of color. As Aster drew near the wall, he found the surface was not smooth, or even textured like rushing water instantly frozen should be. It was a large prism. The sunrise up above might have contributed some of the light, but it was the Warren-light – what little of it there was in this cave – that fed into the prism.

It would never grow dark.

Jack had created this prison. But when had he decided to make a prism out of the ice? From the beginning, only after he'd dragged Pitch into the water with him… Had he planned to go down with Pitch from the beginning?

Aster didn't like that idea.

He could see them now, their bodies distorted by the many edges and planes of the ice wall. They looked peaceful, as if they had both fallen asleep while floating. Pitch's hands were reaching up – for Jack who was frozen a few feet above him, or for the surface far out of the reach. Jack's arms and legs were spread wide, and there was something resigned in the expression on his face.

Aster turned away and stumbled back the way he had come. He felt cold and numb all over, and it wasn't from the ice.

He found the children where he left them. Both were wide awake, and perfectly safe.

Sophie cried out, "Bunny! Bunny!" and leapt into his arms.

Jamie was holding one of the many books littering the room, and he could see the TV was on. The little boy wore a smirk, and it worried him. Jamie snapped the book shut. "So … you really _are_ a bunny?"

Aster had to put up with his snickering for a full twenty minutes, until they found Mrs. Bennett still at the fire station.

She grabbed each of her children in an arm and held them, sobbing, for a good long while. It hurt to watch them. Aster started to leave, but she ran to stop him.

"I don't know how to thank you for keeping them safe," she said. She hauled him into a hug.

He let it happen, and returned it with one hand on her back. "You don't have to," he said. "I … I would have…" He didn't know what to say. He loved Jamie, and he loved Sophie. And maybe some part of him even loved Mrs. Bennett. He hated how everything had fallen apart. But he didn't know how to say that. He stepped back. "I have to find my mom."

She nodded and smiled sadly. "Call me later. Let me know you're alright."

"I will." He took off running.

His truck was at home, so when no one was looking, he made a tunnel into the Warren and found the cave that led to his trailer.

* * *

Home was no longer home.

His bedroom was the first thing he saw upon emerging from the Warren. Nothing survived. All of his furniture was torn to pieces. Even his bed was shredded. The window was shattered. The carpet was ripped up from the floor. The thin panel walls were punched through with holes.

There was water puddled in the hall. The bathroom was like his room, broken beyond repair. The pipes had been pulled out and severed. There was water everywhere.

The door on his mother's door was ripped from the hinges. He looked inside, and found the same destruction.

The living room suffered as well. Glass from the windows was scattered over every surface. Nothing was left untouched.

A body lay crumpled in the middle of it all.

He threw himself over her, his face pressed in limp curls, and choked on his breath as sobs constricted his throat. He whispered, over and over, "Please, please, please," and "Mom, wake up. Wake up, wake up." He tried to find her pulse, or her breath, but he was shaking too hard.

He didn't notice when her hand twitched, or when her eyes fluttered and winced open. It was only when she reached up and weakly pressed her palm to the top of his head that he drew back. She smiled up at him, faint and frail. But she was alive.

They cried together.

* * *

Every day, Aster went to the lake. It was no longer on the way home, but he went anyway. He talked to Jack, and hoped they would see each other again, and not twenty or fifty years from now. Sometimes, he visited underground, where he could see his friend trapped in the ice.

The Bunnymunds found a small house in town, and no one talked about why the rent was so cheap, or why there were more houses like this one now unoccupied.

It was a week before Aster sought out North and Miss Tooth and Sandy. He was still upset, but he wanted answers. He deserved answers.

They told him about the Man in the Moon. He was assured, in time, he too would hear the voice of this "Manny". He would come to accept the rules that had been laid out for them.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He learned that North and Miss Tooth would die, and be reborn, and had died and been reborn many times before.

He learned that Sandy was immortal, and was responsible for making sure North and Miss Tooth always found each other. He had recruited Emmit when the Pooka fell to Earth, but it was uncertain if Emmit would reincarnate with the others. That may have been part of his motivation to create a clone of himself – Aster.

He learned they all thought it was a gift that Jack could hibernate in the ice and age very slowly. He could outlive all of them, and continue to fight for them between their deaths and rebirths. There was always a lull, where they were too old and then too young to be of any use.

But did Jack want that?

It didn't seem to matter. The Man in the Moon said it was so, and so it was.

Aster spent one night yelling at the sliver of a moon from the bank of the lake. He never got a response, but he felt better for it, and thought maybe the moon – or the man in it – heard.

* * *

Susan found Aster's baby pictures during the move. It was one of the few things to survive the trailer's destruction. They sat on the floor in their new living room – they did not have any furniture – and looked at them together.

"I had to have you at home, of course," Susan said. She swiped a finger over a photo of herself, exhausted but happy, holding what looked like a grown rabbit swaddled in blankets. "You were so small."

She had always known Emmit was not human. They had a long history together, she said. When he asked her to carry his baby – his clone – she agreed readily.

There were pictures of Aster growing. In all of them, he was a Pooka. A tiny little Pooka, who looked very much like a smaller version of Emmit when he had transformed on the video. In some pictures, Emmit was a Pooka as well, teaching little Aster how to move about with his big feet. It was hard to imagine the little furry creature was himself. But he could see it, sometimes.

* * *

His first attempt at transforming didn't work. The second resulted in fur everywhere, but his physical appearance was the same. And it took three days for the fur to go away.

He succeeded on his third attempt. And it was strange, but it felt more natural to be an alien rabbit than to be human.

Until he tried to walk. Susan couldn't stop laughing when she found him tangled up in his own limbs. But she was proud of him. So very proud.

* * *

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since the night of Pitch's attack and defeat, and Jack's return to the lake. The moon was once again full and bright and shining down on the frozen lake.

Aster left his truck parked on the bank and walked out across the ice, to the frozen splash, that little monument left behind.

He sat on his knees, the same as he had after that battle three weeks ago, and looked up at the moon. And he cursed it.

An hour later, when all feeling had left his legs and he couldn't hold back the shivering any longer, he stood and turned to go back.

The first crack in the ice snapped like a gunshot. Aster jumped, and ducked down, and then looked down to see a thin line race between his feet. He froze. He wanted to run.

Behind them, there were more snaps and pops. He turned slowly and saw the frozen splash break to pieces. The ice crumbled and water bubbled up from between the cracks.

He backed away, slowly, afraid he was too far from any shore to save himself if it all collapsed under him.

The puncture wound in the ice exploded upward, and Aster tensed, and made ready to thump a hole in the ground. But then he saw something else shoot out of ice and water.

There was whoop overhead, and water dripped down a moment before Jack, soaking wet, dropped from the sky. His bare feet touched the lake and ice whirled out from the contact, sealing up the hole his entrance had made. The water on his sweater and jeans frosted over.

"So, um…" He smiled nervously and shook the water from his hair. "Hi?"

Aster stared at him blankly. And then grabbed him in an embrace that quickly turned to a very, very tight squeeze. "You scared the shit out of me," he ground out.

Jack said, "Irk." And when Aster loosened his grip, added, "Did you miss me?"

Aster let Jack go with a light shove. "Shut up."

Jack grinned. He didn't hate it.

He asked, "Why are you here, anyway? I thought … Is there another problem? Is Pitch…?"

Jack shook his head, still grinning. "The Moon and I came to an agreement. See, my job was to protect you. Pitch may be trapped here," he tapped the ice with a foot, "but there are lots of other threats out there."

"So … Wait. You're saying I need a bodyguard?" He glared up at the moon.

"I've seen how you fight," Jack said. "It's going to be a lifelong job." He wisely danced out of the way of Aster's swipe.

As they drove back to Burgess, Aster decided he didn't really care _why_ Jack was back. He was back, and that was all that really mattered.

* * *

The sun was bright and beautiful and climbing away from the horizon when Aster dropped his mother off at the gas station, where she'd found a new job. She was seeing a counselor now, and hadn't had more than one beer in the last week. She wanted Aster to quit working, to quit paying the bills and rent, but they both knew they couldn't afford that. Not yet.

North and Miss Tooth were outside the toy shop, both animated as they argued back and forth. He pulled up to the curb, and waved to them. They waved back. A moment later, Jack skipped out of the toy store, a bundle of flowers in his hand, and hopped into the truck.

"Ready?" Aster asked.

"Ready." Jack took a deep breath as the truck moved down the road.

The cemetery was no longer buried in snow, and the otherwise simple, unremarkable garden of tombstones was lush with green grass and blooming flowers. Once Aster learned how to influence life and growth, the cemetery was the first place he had gone to test his new abilities.

They stopped at one of the newer graves first. Aster stayed a few steps back as Jack knelt and lay his flowers on the ground. He heard, "Hi, Pip," but the rest of Jack's one-sided conversation was too quiet.

It had come out, slowly and over many conversations, that Jack's anger at Pitch and sadness over losing Pippa was what had driven him to dive into the lake with Pitch. He had not, at that time, planned to come back. Ever, if possible.

But Pippa would not have wanted him to stay locked in ice forever. He had made friends. He could have something of a family in North and Miss Tooth and Aster.

He wanted to live.

Sometimes, the sadness still got to him. Sometimes, he wished to go back into the ice and sleep, and leave the hurt behind. Those were the times when he and Aster sat for hours on the roof of Aster's house and talked, and talked, and talked.

Jack stood up from Pippa's grave and joined Aster.

"You okay?" Aster asked. He asked every time.

Jack nodded. "Yeah." His eyes were bright, but he wasn't crying this time. "Let's go say hi to Bunny."

Aster led the way.

THE END

* * *

**AN: **Awkward ending is awkward. But that is it. It's done. Over.

I'm sorry for those of you who wanted a Jackrabbit ending. I like the pairing, I really do (and it's probably pretty obvious), but if they were to get together on a more-than-friends basis, it would happen much farther down the road, well after the events of this story.

Thank you every single one for the support and reviews and just plain reading, even if you didn't make a comment on it. I appreciate all of you, very, very much!

I think I'm going to try something much simpler for my next attempt.


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